And The Same Difference
by Youth of Australia
Summary: Three accidental tourists spend a night at the Williamsberg Diner.
1. Chapter 1

The boiling yellow disc glowed brighter than ever before as it sank behind the horizon of towers and buildings. Dave peered out from beneath the palm of his hand as the gleaming yellow diamond of refracted light was swallowed up in a surprisingly short time and suddenly the whole town seemed to have been plunged into shadow. Blinking in the sudden gloom, he drew his colourful PVC trenchcoat around him tighter as what heat there was in the air bled away with the light.

"Jeez, it gets cold quick," he muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

His companion ignored him.

"You sure you're not going to freeze like that?" asked Dave reasonably.

It was a sensible question. The man before him wore a loose neon-pink T-shirt that was pressed against his torso by the cold breeze, and his baggy tan slacks were a thin weave material. Clothes for a much warmer climate, just as his mirrored pince nez sunglasses were now ridiculously inappropriate for this late dusk.

"Well, I might just do that," Nigel said at last, his perfect white teeth gritted in irritation. "Had I known we were coming to Brooklyn, I probably would have dressed more suitably. Full body armor and a placard saying 'TEXAS - WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!', that sort of thing." His deep voice was tight with annoyance.

Dave sighed again. "It wasn't like this was deliberate."

"Oh, no, Dave of course it wasn't deliberate. That would suggest what congealed bit of chinese takeaway in your skull you call a brain could actually achieve something you set out to do, wouldn't it?"

"How many times do I have to apologize?"

"That should be your bloody family motto, Dave," Nigel sneered. "I know you failed your higher school certificate and thus logically should find 'stop' signs heavy literature, but even I never thought you were completely illiterate."

"I just ticked the wrong box on the online ticket site," Dave said for the upteenth time.

"So what? We had those tickets for forty-three hours and you never spotted that they said 'Brooklyn' rather 'Brisbane'."

"Yes, as they look EXACTLY NOTHING ALIKE!" Nigel shouted. "And, again, I was stupid enough to think you'd be able to spot the difference."

"Ah, so who's the stupid one now, huh?" Dave asked triumphantly.

Nigel reached up to brush one of his acid-yellow bangs out of his chocolate brown face, opened his mouth to give a retort, then stopped. With a huff he turned to the third figure slumped on the bench beside him and jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

Andrew's man of shaggy ginger flew wildly as his head shot up through forty-five degrees as he snapped out of his snooze. His wide green eyes with their dilated pupils gazed unseeingly as he mumbled, "So don't delay, act now - supplies are running out! Allow, if you're still alive, six to eight years arrive, and if you follow there may be a tomorrow but if the offers gone, you might as well be walking on the sun..." He shuddered and blinked. "We're off the plane?"

"Yes, you hirsuite lunatic, we're off the plane," said Nigel impatiently. "And, no, this isn't Queensland. Professor Brian Cox here," he added, nodding at Dave, "has dumped us in the unfashionable ends of New York, to whit, Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" Andrew said distate. "Sounds Dutch. Why couldn't we go to Amsterdam?"

"Because Dave can recognize As and Bs but no other letter, apparently."

Andrew nodded, rubbing his bare yet hairy arms emerging from his grubby wifebeater singlet. "Christ, it's cold. And I'm hungry. What are we doing in a park?"

"Oh, this was as far as that taxicab driver would take us before we ran out of money," Dave explained. "Apparently conversion rates mean Australian cash is like Monopoly money here."

"Did you try _actual_ Monopoly money?" asked Andrew, fumbling in the pocket of his ragged denim shorts to pull out a wad of dull-coloured notes. "You think this is worth much?"

"Oh, give me that, Orc-features," Nigel said, snatching the cash and beginning to count it out. "What crime did I commit to be lumbered with you two stem-cell-research rejects?" he muttered before adding, "And that was rhetorical, so both of you shut up."

"Next flight back to Sydney's at six tomorrow morning," Dave explained.

"And that's, what, twelve hours away?"

"Closer to thirteen."

"And the chances are we'll have died of exposure on this park bench by then," scowled Nigel, licking his thumb to turn the notes quicker.

"You're joking," said Andrew.

"Well, concievably we could be stabbed and raped to death by crack-crazed New Yorkers first," Nigel conceded with a shrug. "I mean, Dave had to leave us in a place where a quarter of all human beings live below the poverty line and are legally allowed to use lethal weaponry on anyone who looks at them in a funny way."

"I know," Dave agreed. "How the hell is America a superpower?"

"There must be something worth visiting while we're here," Andrew said, rising from the bench, shoving his hands deep into his pocket and turning around to gaze at the shadow-smothered metropolis. Lights were visible behind windows, but not much else. "Museums? Acadmies? No! Coney Island! Let's go there!"

"On foot?" Nigel suggested, waving his fistfull of cash. "Because this wouldn't pay the full cab fare and I just get this horrible feeling the New Luna Park is going to ask for even more money than the old one back home..."

"Fine," Andrew said, nodding. "On foot it is!"

A bleached-blond eyebrow arched behind the mirrored sunglasses. "You're serious?"

"Never more so! We've got thirteen hours in New York..."

"Yeah, the crappy bits of New York. Called Brooklyn."

"...even so, we can't waste it!" With that, Andrew strode off through the park in what he no doubt assumed was the right direction to Coney Island. "The Rolling Stones never gathered any moss, did they?"

"If they did, Keith probably smoked it," Dave said, and followed him.

Nigel sighed. "Oh, why do I not murder you idiots in your sleep?" he wondered, and then followed them. "You realize there are much better things to do than wander through Brooklyn after dark? I mean, the whole place smells like vomit-covered garbage, prices are through the roof, everyone is genetically programmed to be a complete asshole..."

"You've finally come home," Dave yawned, and Andrew laughed.

"You ever hear of the Ninja Turtles doing anything Brooklyn?" Nigel challenged. "No. The same reason Ned Kelly never went to Dubbo. There are some places man should not go and this is one of them." He dope-slapped Dave. "Brooklyn is not Brisbane!"

Dave winced. "Well, instead of easy Queenslander chicks you can have easy Brooklyn babes?" he offered, rubbing the back of his head.

"How shallow do you think I am?" Nigel retorted.

"Very," said Andrew with a withering glance. "Besides, an Aboriginal like you should get some interested looks in America. They might mistake you for an African prince."

"You could probably tell them," Dave agreed. "Americans are stupid."

"Way to perpetuate the national stereotype," Andrew reproached him. "Remember, Americans can be some of the friendliest and most generous of people on the planet."

"And they can also be selfish pig-ignorant redneck bigots with chips on their shoulders," Nigel retorted.

"Again, this is _so_ your spiritual home," Dave sighed wistfully.

"My point, you waste of oxygen, is that there is no guarantee we'll meet any nice Americans and a high probability we'll meet the sort of slack-jawed yokels you normally see dressing pigs in gingham dresses and making moonshine."

"Brooklyn Bridge!" said Andrew suddenly, looking back at them with newfound excitement. "We have got to check that out! Climb to the top, next to the flag and watch the sunset over Manhattan! That's definitely somewhere on my bucket list. Just after 'buy a bucket'."

"Pity you missed the sundown, then, isn't it?" Nigel said sweetly, and shivered. "God how far away is Alaska? I'm freezing."

"Your own fault for being so lean and lacking blubbery insulation," Andrew replied, smacking his slight pot-belly beneath his singlet. "No staying power in the cold."

"Oh, that's fat, is it?" asked Nigel, surprised. "I just assumed that was a tumor, or maybe a build-up from dirt given your pathological refusal to bathe!"

"See? That's hunger making you irritable," Andrew said smugly.

"It _has_ been a while since we had anything to eat," Dave agreed glumly. He looked down the street ahead. "Maybe we can get a hotdog or something?"

"Oh, no," said Nigel, shaking his head. "I'm not touching some hotdog stall. We should go somewhere _really_ fancy, where they pick the maggots off the meat first..."

"You are just one whinging bitch aren't you?" said Andrew exasperated. "Think of it as an experience! Widen your perspective! Remember that time we went to that Hungarian restaurant and tried to bluff our way with the menu?"

"I remember it took a hell of a long time for the food to arrive," Nigel replied. "And that the main course was a medium-rare human ear. Which was, half an hour earlier, attached to the head waiter, back when he wasn't crying and bleeding out."

"I thought it was quite moving," Dave replied.

"Yeah. Stomach churning."

"How many waiters care enough to sacrifice their ears for paying customers, though?"

"We didn't really pay, though," Andrew pointed out.

"Yeah," Nigel agreed. "We sort of did a runner before the police arrived."

"I'm just saying Hungarian hospitality is not to be sniffed at," Dave protested.

"Especially not when they cut your nose off and serve it with grated carrot."

Andrew stopped at corner building with a neon design of a steaming tea cup on a saucer. A sign above the cup said **_THE WILLIAMSBERG DINER_**. The windows of the building were blocked by venetian blinds, but there were bits of sticky tape on the other side of the glass where menus and posters had been placed over the years. The only sign still remaining was a neatly-drawn notice saying **_HOME OF MAX'S HOMEMADE CUPCAKES!_**

"Well, it's not Hungarian."

"You know, I think I've lost my appetite," said Nigel.

"All the more for us then," said Dave and headed for the door. "Come on, proper New York cousine in a late-night diner! JK Rowling wrote _Harry Potter_ in places like this!"

"No. She didn't."

"Well, she would have. If she could have. So she should have."

With that, Dave shoved the door open and a bell jangled. Andrew followed him into the sulfurous yellow interior and Nigel lingered on the pavement. It was now so cold clouds of grey mist billowed from his mouth with each breath.

"All right, but if anyone in there is missing an ear, don't say I didn't warn you..."


	2. Chapter 2

Earl glanced up, as he always did, when the door to the diner opened. Three customers were making their way down the steps into the diner proper. The first was a medium-sized young man of maybe twenty with spiky jelled hair and a crew-cut at the sides, dressed in a plastic coat that started blue at the shoulders, green at the waist and crayon yellow at the hem. He had a shy smile and brown eyes.

The big guy following looked like he'd just come off the streets, with a grubby undershirt and shorts, open-toed sandals and hair on his face, arms, chest and legs. He had a cheerful, psychotic look in his eyes and looked around in delight as though he'd always wanted to come to this diner but never quite achieved.

At first glance, the final customer looked like a brutha - but his nose was wide and face too round to have ever been descended from Africa. The effect was increased by his strange choice to dress as a Japanese hipster, with his necklength dyed-blond hair, figure-hugging pink T-shirt and brown slacks. His eyes were hidden behind some fancy sunglasses, and the only evidence he wasn't gay was the fact his T-shirt boldly declared _I AM WHAT WOMEN WANT_, with the "I" taking up most of his chest.

The big psycho came over, resting one arm atop Earl's desk and grinned a grin that had far too many teeth. "Evening!" he said brightly, sounding faintly Irish. "Is it possible to get a table for three?"

"Well, as you can see, we are all but at capacity," said Earl apologetically, indicating the nearly-deserted dining area. "But if you can find a booth, I dare say one of the girls will be with you soon enough."

The black guy looked up. "Girls?" he echoed. "Do they do lap-dances here?"

Earl considered his response. "You're welcome to ask and find out."

"He means waitresses, Nigel," sighed the remaining customer.

"Oh. Why didn't he say so then?" huffed Nigel. "Come on, Dave."

"He's with us," the psycho apologized. "We're hoping to find a society somewhere that accepts him as normal. No luck so far."

"I've dealt with worse," Earl replied with a shrug.

"I'm sure you have. How much for a CD?" he said abruptly, looking at the miniature stack of blues recordings Earl offered for sale every night. "'_Relax With Max_'," he read the title, fascinated with the CD. "Is that the Max who makes homemade cupcakes?"

"How'd you know that?" asked Earl.

"I didn't. That's why I'm asking." He shoved a handful of coins onto the counter. "Seventeen dollars in Australian money - proper gold, that's worth something over here, I feel sure." He looked at the back of the CD. "Yes, there's a sign outside saying Max's homemade cupcakes are sold here."

"Indeed they are."

"So it would be a coincidence - quite the coincidence - if they weren't the same Max." He looked. "You're not Max, are you?"

Earl smiled. "You can call me Earl."

"Can I? Thank you!" He held out a hand. "You can call me Andrew."

Earl shook it. "I'll take your money."

"That's what money's for," Andrew agreed and, CD in hand, joined the others in a booth with his two friends who were already pouring over the laminated menus. "A Brooklyn jazz CD!" he said happily. "Just the thing to listen to as the sun sets over the Brooklyn Bridge."

"The good news is, human ears _aren't_ on the menu," Nigel declared.

"I'm sure you can ask for them anyway," Dave replied.

"Dave, in the highly-unlikely event I ever want your opinion, I will read your entrails. Mind you, that'd probably be healthier than anything made in this salmonella cesspit..."

"Nigel, shut up," said Andrew wearily. "I'm looking at the chicken and waffles."

"Your optometrist must be so proud." Nigel flipped over the menu. "I guess I'll try the spicy beef burger with french fries. What about you, Dave?"

"I dunno. Nothing really reaches out and grabs me."

"That's what muggers are for."

"Nigel, you're giving me the shits."

"Probably no more than any of this offal they'll be slopping out of the bins." Nigel turned in his chair and peered over the top at the serving window to the kitchens. "I bet the cook's some illegal immigrant who thinks paprika and rat poison are the same thing..."

Earl sighed and shook his head, examining the golden coins. They all had the Queen of England on the back, but the two dollar coin had a bearded man while the one dollar coin showed lots of kangaroos. He looked up as Louis pranced out of the kitchen in his ordinary clothes. "Well, Earl," he sighed, "another day has fought a battle with my goodlooks and lost. I am off for a victory grinder marathon... starting _now!_"

The latino day waiter spun his hips and advanced on the booth.

"And who might this delicious threesome be?"

Three frowns of varying puzzlement and annoyance looked up at him.

"My god, ebony and ivory and a little mocachino in the middle! Where have you been all my life?"

"On the other side of a restraining order," said Nigel, far from amused. "Is this some kind of homoerotic cabaret, or do you actually want something?"

Louis assumed a relaxed pose against the edge of the booth. "Sweetheart, I want what we all want. What's your name, gorgeous?"

"Names are for tombstones," said Andrew, scowling at the menu.

"My god," said Nigel with a grimace. "You're actually attracted to _him?_" he demanded, waving at Andrew. "I mean, we had to argue at the airport to get him through customs without a mandatory quarantine! They thought he was bigfoot under extradition! What depravity are you into you could be turned on by him?!"

"I know what I like," Louis purred. "And I like what I see."

"Is the feeling often mutual?" Nigel asked.

Andrew smiled up at the day waiter. "You're very kind, but you're not my type."

"Oh, honey, we know what your type is," he growled confidently.

"Dead underage junkies," Nigel replied.

Andrew and Dave glared at him.

"Sorry. Dead underage _female_ junkies." Nigel wagged a reproachful finger. "And I still think you're making that up."

"Anyway," said Andrew, "I'm definitely not in the mood for a new relationship."

"Hey, darling, it does not have to be anything long-term."

"Sweet onion chutney," said Dave at last. "You're straight, aren't you? I've never met anyone gay who was as ridiculously camp as you are! You practically _sneeze_ glitter!"

"You're also on the wrong side of fifty," Nigel added.

"Oh, come out of the closet!" Louise urged.

"Only if _you_ go into the closet and never come out again," Dave replied. "Because we don't appreciate your behavior, dude. You're way too... well, I wish I could think of a better word than 'molestery' but that covers how I feel."

Louise pouted. "Oh, you're very needy."

"Yes," Nigel agreed. "He needs you to sod off. And if he doesn't, I do."

"Playing hard to get, I like that," Louise grinned.

"You see, Nigel," said Andrew, "this is karma. This is what you are like to other people."

"I'm not some rampant depraved latino giving homosexuality a bad name!"

"No, you're a rampant depraved Aborigine giving heterosexuality a bad name."

"Look," Dave said to Louise, "we're just waiting to be served."

"What a coincidence!" laughed Louise. "I am the day waiter here!"

"It's night-time," Dave protested.

"What can I say, I lose track of time around gorgeous youngsters like you..."

"Why aren't you on a police register?" Nigel grumbled. "Fine! Take our order, go away and think long and hard why someone your age is still single, grandpa."

Louis' jaw dropped in astonishment.

"No!" Dave said firmly. "Don't do that! You _don't_ give us the offended gay act! If we acted like that around girls, we'd have AVOs put out on us. Which is like a restraining order. Only Australian. And taken seriously."

"Fine, I cannot stand you Aussies, so needy, so much shame," said Louise, raising a hand to separate him from the trio. "No idea about the good things life has to offer."

"Yeah, ignorance truly is bliss," yawned Andrew. "You going to take our order?"

"No," huffed Louise. "You can wait for the night waitresses to deal with you. And when you, you'll realize the great mistake you have made."

Dave sighed. "Look, sorry, we didn't mean to offend you, but..."

"Hah!" Louise sniffed derisively. "I don't offend easily."

"Well, I promise to try harder," said Nigel with a smile.

Louise turned and flounced off.

"To think," Nigel muttered, "there are trees out there producing oxygen so things like that can breathe."

"Maybe we shouldn't have done that," Dave said gloomily.

"Yeah, on second thoughts, some _Pulp Fiction_ style sodomy and ball gags would be the perfect way to end the evening," Nigel retorted.

"If he really works here, we might have offended the staff. And _they_ handle the food!"

"Nonsense," said Andrew. He leaned over and yelled, "Earl? Are you upset by that exchange with the day waiter?"

"More amused than upset," Earl replied. "But if you try that with the girls..." He trailed off and shook his head. "Let's just say you'd be less screwed if you took Louise up on his offer..."

"'Louise'?" Nigel sniggered. "Christ, no wonder this country doesn't have a gay and lesbian mardi gras celebration every year. Who'd celebrate people like 'Louise'?"

"The first person we really meet in America and you're taking the piss out of him," Dave sighed. "I thought we'd all be much more sensitive and culturally-aware."

"We are," Andrew said. "The problem is that _he_ was the first thing we were aware of. Besides, we met Earl and he seems to be quite nice. When was the last time we bought a CD from a struggling musician and regretted it?"

"That guy with the Harp at Wynyard Station," replied Dave without hesitation.

"_Apart_ from him."

Nigel supplied, "The Greek electro-synth pop-up band at the Liquorland store."

"And them."

"That pirate thrash metal duo outside Town Hall..."

"Fine." Andrew waved the CD. "_This_ will be the exception."

Nigel yawned and glanced at the wall-clock. "When are these waitresses going to turn up?" he demanded. "Because I've had enough back-talking soap-box rhetoric for one day. If I don't get an acceptable standard of service, there will be trouble."

Dave thought about the warnings from both Louise and Earl and gulped.

These waitresses didn't sound very nice.

He hoped Nigel wouldn't upset them.


	3. Chapter 3

Andrew put the ketchup bottle back on the condiments tray and pulled out one of the drinking straws which was neatly kept clean inside two off-white paper sleeves that enveloped it. "_And I can't remember where I saw your face,_" he crooned idly as he stripped the straw free and examined it. "_And I can't remember where you know my name, I can't remember where we said goodbye, I'd leave you if I could but it feels so good..._"

Across the booth, Nigel sat with his hands behind his head, groaning idly with a mixture of boredom and irritation. He tried to think of listening to thinks more irritating than Andrew's breathless, tuneless noise pollution but even dragging a metal fork down a blackboard to the exact melody of the Crazy Frog somehow didn't seem quite so bad.

On the other hand, Dave's attempts at polite conversation were definitely up there.

"You know, if you get twelve straws and put string through them, you can make a cube shape of straws?" Dave told them, resting his chin in his hands as he gazed up at the wall clock. "And the cube looks like a kind of hexagonal spider web if you flatten it out."

"_I'd leave you if I could but it feels so good..._"

"My year three teacher showed me that. She make it a competition to try and work out how to do it. I spent a whole night trying to work it out."

"_Shake-shake, you're the only one, shake-shake, you're the only one I know..._"

"Course it turns out that Lucy had already worked out with that super Asian brain of hers."

"And everyone else in the class had worked it wasn't worth bothering with?" Nigel groaned. "God, did we actually die on the plane trip? Is this hell? Condemned to spend eternity in some dingy cafe with two surviving brain donors like you two. It's like _Sapphire and Steel_, only without any redeeming features!"

"_Shake-shake, just a dirty one, I'd leave you if I could but it feels so good..._"

"Will you shut up?" Nigel pleaded, almost in tears.

"That's Roland Glass," Dave pointed out. "It's a classic."

"Well, why don't you do a proper tribute to him," Nigel suggested, "and OD on heroin while choking to death on a cupcake? Cause that would be the highlight of this vacation so far!"

Dave blinked. "I get it!"

Andrew looked at him in surprise. "Do you?"

"This is the place, the Williamsberg Diner!" Dave said brightly.

Nigel stared at him. "Can you believe this guy flunked high school?"

Dave crossed to Earl. "Scuse me, if this the place where Roland Glass died?"

The cashier gaze up from beneath his silver brows. "You're more of his groupies?"

"Um. No. Just, thought I'd heard of this place," Dave apologized.

"Actually, no, he dropped dead a little further up the street, but they tore down the memorial after the tramps started using it as a public toilet. And damn those guys needed more fibre in their diet."

Dave grimaced, but tried to smile politely. "Thanks for that."

"Choked on one of Max's homemade cupcakes," Earl mused.

"Is that a recommendation?" asked Nigel, disbelievingly.

"He died smiling."

"Rigor mortis does that to you," Andrew agreed. "Still, there's no reason that those cupcakes are bad. Did anyone quit ham sandwiches after Mama Cass? Or hokien noodles after Janis Joplin? Or KFC after Elvis?"

"Fine, _you_ eat them then," Nigel challenged.

"Oh, no. I might still be diabetic," Andrew replied, then frowned, "I really should check on that. But either way, my heart's set on waffles. With chicken!"

"And my heart's on me waking up to discover I'm actually a Columbian drug lord and all the time with you has been a feverish delusion," Nigel replied reasonably. "We don't get what we want. And where the hell are these waitresses? Do they even exist?"

Having taken one of the free papers from the stand by the door, Dave returned to the booth. "We've only been here ten minutes, Nige."

"Yeah, I know. Outrageous."

"Just saying..."

"Don't! Honestly, Dave. Your sweet Polly Oliver really gets on my pectorals sometimes!"

Andrew was using one of the table knives to carve tiny holes in one of the straws. "The Bhudda said that life is suffering," he pointed out.

"The Bhudda said a lot of things," Nigel retorted. "And there were plenty of Bhuddas. And not one of them had to sit in a diner being sexually harrassed by Latino perverts and slowly dying of malnutrition waiting to be served!"

At that moment there was a clanging from the front door as two women entered. They both wore mustard-coloured dresses with red piping and in-built aprons, but that was the only common factor.

The first one was tall and slender with a straight fringe atop her blue eyes and straight, dark-rooted, platinum blonde hair that came down across her chest like some ross between a Barbie Doll and Lady Godiva. Around her neck was an expensive-looking necklace with four layers of pearls, and she had an expensive looking-bracelet around her right wrist.

If a word summed her up, it would be "cute".

The second woman was different. She was nearly a head shorter and seemed to be one size too large for her uniform, which clung tight to her body and showed off her impressive cleavage. She had a cascade of dark tangled hair framing her face, with dark crimson lips, big eyelashes and dark green eyes.

If a word summed her up, it would be "awesome".

Dave felt a sickening lurch in his stomach.

He'd fallen in love.

And as anyone who knew him in any way, shape or form could tell you: this was never a good thing.


	4. Chapter 4

As Max shrugged off her midnight black coat, Earl glanced up from his desk. "Evening, girls," he said. "Something tie you up?"

"Earl," said Max evenly, "you know if there was a bondage session on offer, I would not cut it short just to come here."

"Chestnut had a nasty scratch on his nose," Caroline explained. "And finding a vet at this time of day is not evening."

"Sophie did offer to put him down for us," Max noted, "but I just think she was running out of glue and wanted to save some bucks."

Earl shrugged. Despite her casual manner, he knew Max loved that horse almost as much as Caroline did and wouldn't have left him till they knew he was all right. "Well, if you're going to go with that story, not everyone will buy it."

"What's the problem, Earl?" asked Caroline. "Has Han worked out the difference between New York time and Korean time?"

"You mean he's big enough to see the clock on his laptop?" gasped Max. "Did we miss a growth spurt? Damn it. First no bondage and now Han evolving out of sight!"

"Well, Han hasn't come out to complain yet..." Earl began.

"But he _has_ come out?" Max boggled. "We missed that too?!"

"...but three customers are kinda getting impatient," Earl concluded, glancing to a booth where three men in their early twenties were gazing unblinkingly at the girls. "Normally I wouldn't bother you with it, but damn, girls, it has been like the waiting room at meth rehab all over again."

"How long they been here?" asked Max.

"Bout half an hour."

"Half an hour?" Caroline mused. "Wasn't Louise here?"

"He was, but apparently the scruffy one reminded him of Oleg." Earl blew out his cheeks. "It went down hill from there. These guys are tourists and apparently have a higher quality of gay where they come from - or at least gays that stick to the age of consent."

Max tutted. "So picky!" She snatched up an order pad. "OK, Earl, take off the riot gear, Max Black is here to deal with the emergency..."

Caroline held up a once-very-well-manicured hand. "Max, let them live," she advised. "They managed to convince Louise they weren't interested without resort to firearms..." Her eyes widened and she looked at Earl. "...right?"

"Ah-huh," Earl confirmed.

Caroline sighed in relief. "And, anyway, they're tourists who probably will tip through the nose without realize what their money is worth. Service with a smile is what is needed."

"Service with a smile is totally my motto," Max smirked. "And lube is optional."

"Look, we work for tips and these three customers clearly are stressed and need a professional experience."

"Wait," said Max, "you're really going to pretend to be a high-class hooker?"

Caroline sighed, trying not to smile. "Just a professional waitress."

"That sounds way too much like hard work. Let's just mug these guys outside. We get more money and at least a little bit of physical release!"

Andrew, Nigel and Dave watched as the blonde waitress, shaking her head and clearly trying not to laugh at whatever the brunette had been saying, approached.

"Is that Paris Hilton or Drew Barrymore?" wondered Nigel idly.

"Not sure, but her friend is _definitely_ Eliza Dushku," Andrew decided.

"Nigel, don't make a scene," Dave blurted out.

Nigel's eyes widened behind his shades. "Me? A scene? Did your last brain cell just implode?" he fumed, but the others shushed him.

The waitress arrived and gave a dazzling smile that seemed genuine. "Good evening," she said in a bright, high-pitched but not unpleasant voice. "I'll be your waitress, my name is Caroline. Sorry about the delay, all sorts of things going wrong I just know you don't care about."

"We might," Dave interjected dazedly.

"Sorry?" Caroline said, taken aback.

Andrew nodded. "Well, it's possible we might care," he agreed. "Depending on what it was. Must have been very serious. Do you need to talk about it?"

Caroline very visibly thought about it for a moment. "Well, it would probably take a _lot_ of contextualizing," she admitted. "It's a long story."

"Probably a tall one too," Nigel said sweetly. "But if you don't want to tell us chapter and verse, I totally respect that decision. Do you, I dunno, maybe want to take our orders instead?"

Caroline's eyes narrowed for the briefest of brief instants. "Yeah, why not?" she said, clearly having detected Nigel's admittedly well-hidden rudeness. "What can I get you guys?"

Nigel grinned as dazzling a grin as Caroline had provided. "Spicy beef burger and chips, please," he said, offering her his menu to collect.

Still smiling, Caroline jotted that down.

"I'd like the waffles and chicken please," asked Andrew. "And, perhaps, for you to overlook the social retardation of the thing in the seat opposite us. Dave?"

"What did I do?" Dave blurted out in panic.

Caroline was surprised at his reaction, and so where Nigel and Andrew. "Do you want to eat anything?" she asked gently.

"Oh. Yes." Dave nodded confidently. "Uh... what do you recommend, miss?"

Caroline smiled, genuinely this time. "Well, between you and me, I'd probably recommend eating somewhere else, but if you want the best thing available..."

Dave, not trusting himself to speak, nodded furiously.

"Well, we do have a selection of amazing cupcakes."

"Fine!" Dave said, trying to sound normal. "A plate of those, then."

"A plate of cupcakes?" Caroline repeated, delighted.

"Yeah, whichever you think are best," Dave agreed.

"Are these cupcakes _homemade?_" asked Andrew thoughtfully.

Nigel was shaking his head in disbelief. "Who the hell cares?" he demanded.

Caroline wisely ignored him. "They are indeed, and have had great reviews - Martha Stewart loved them and said so in writing."

"Did she?" asked Dave interestedly.

"Who's Martha Stewart?" Andrew asked him, confused.

"Patrick Stewart after a dodgy sex-change!" Nigel retorted. "Look," he paused to very visibly lower his shades and peer at her name tag "_Caroline,_ I'm sure this is a fascinating conversation, probably the most interesting you've ever had, but I am really hungry right now and just assume that if you go away that food will come back quicker. I apologize for any rudness but for god's sake, move that skinny ass and feed me."

"My pleasure," she said, still smiling.

"I'm so sorry about him," Dave protested as she started to move off.

"No problem."

Andrew sighed. "I'd like to say he isn't always like this..."

"Like what? Stunningly attractive, witty, insightful and with the sexual prowess of a mountain lion on viagra?"

"...but as you can see, he's actually much worse."

"Oi!"

Caroline tore off the order slip and put it on the serving window. "Oleg, order for table ten," she called through. "And if you have some unwanted bodily fluids, the spicy beef burger is the place to put them."

The hairy Ukranian cook glanced up. "You know my urethra better than I do," he said. "And this is a compliment rarely given."

Max came over to fiddle with the coffee machine. "Wow, getting some of Oleg's secret herbs and spices," she marvelled. "What did they do? Make fun of you for being the daughter of the most notorious criminal since the guy who invented flash mobs?"

"No," Caroline sighed. "Just one of the guys was a total dick."

"And the other two were balls?"

"No, they seemed OK. Oh, and one of them wants a plate of cupcakes! _Our_ cupcakes!" enthused Caroline, surging with enthusiasm on the turn of a dime. "Imagine it, Max, we could have international branding! People leave America thinking only of your cupcakes!"

"Hope that doesn't include the pilots, or else shares in airplanes will plummet." Max laughed. "See what I did there? Plummet!" She sighed. "So, where are those freaks from? England? Papua New Ginuea? The one in the singlet is clearly from Middle Earth..."

"I'm pretty sure they're Australian."

"Australia! Home of the Wiggles, Dame Edna and crocodile hunters who are fatally vulnerable to non-crocodiles!" Max enthused. "Wow! Hey, you ever been down under?"

Caroline stared at her. "Do you mean Australia or are you asking about my sex life?"

"Hey, you know I mean Australia. Why would ask about something non-existent? What do you think I am - a climate change skeptic?"

Caroline shrugged. "Well, yeah. Daddy took us there for the Olympics back in 2000."

"That was the one with the awesome closing ceremony, right?"

"There was this guy in a broken down motorcart that accidentally smashed all the stages over and ruined everything..."

"I know! It only needed Mel Gibson and Tina Turna."

"Max, trust me, everything was ruined already. That would have been overkill."

"So, which one of those ocker blockers was the trouble maker?"

"Um, the aborigine."

"...you mean the hipster? They have hipsters in Australia? Didn't the redback spiders kill them all?" Max shook her head. "OK, time to improve international relations."

Caroline grabbed her arm. "Max," she warned. "What are going to do?"

"Just verbally destroy him and everything he stands for. Maybe mention my vagina in an aggressive context. You know, the usual."

"You think that will make him tip us more? Cause it sounds like he'd tip a lot less."

At that moment, a vaguely pear-shaped waist-high figure shambled out of the alcove at the side of the diner containing male and female toilets. "Mex! Caralin! You two are running very late again! Do you even have an excuse this time?"

"We need one?" asked Max, surprised.

As ever, Caroline stepped forward to defuse the situation. "Sorry, Han, but it was all part of a scheme to make us better at our jobs."

"By not turning up for them?" Han was unimpressed.

"No, the idea was that the less time we spent at the diner, the more precious that time would be and how we'd make every single moment matter that much more. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Or, in this case, absence makes the Han grow smaller," Max opined.

"Oh Mex," Han sighed. "Why do you insist on belittling me?"

Max burst out laughing, and failed to cover her mouth. "Oh, Han," she sniggered, "as if I'd ever belittle you. You _be little_ already!"

Han glared at Caroline. "Do you find this as amusing as she does?"

"She wouldn't laugh if she didn't hold you in such high esteem," Caroline began, only for Max to start laughing even harder. "And, you know, laughter's good for you. Laughter makes you live longer."

"So people who don't laugh live shorter?"

Max wiped her eyes. "Please, Han. You are literally _and_ figuratively killing me."

"Mex, my patience is running low."

Caroline took Max by the arms and lead her away. "Han, you're not helping."

"No, I am not here to help. And there is the small matter..." He sighed. "Oh, fine. But as we only have three customers, I do not expect any complaints. You girls give good service to them right now."

"Why?" asked Max. "Is time running _short?_"

Han flapped his arms and returned to his office.

Andrew scowled in distaste. "Hah," he said. "Look at them pick on that poor little old woman," he said. "America all over - polite smiles hiding sharp teeth."

"Maybe they're good friends," Dave suggested.

"Friends don't make fun of each other," said Nigel.

"How would _you_ know?" Dave and Andrew asked simultaneously.

"Well, fine. If these people are going to _act_ like the steak-chewing intolerant slavery-endorsing rednecks of yore, then that is how I am going to _treat_ them," said Nigel, folding his arms. "I'm going to leave their worldview shattered and their egos lying bleeding and bruised."

"Yes, it must be strange to be a country you're not already universally-despised," Andrew mused. "But what do you think is going to happen bar us getting thrown out by Earl over there who, I notice, has a frighteningly-solid looking baseball bat to hand?"

The brunette was approaching them.

Dave swallowed. "Nige, do us a favour, just be nice!" he pleaded.

Nigel gave a sharklike grin. "Nice?" he hissed. "I'm _always_ nice..."

The waitress had reached their table.


	5. Chapter 5

As ever, Max wondered why no one ever sat in the upper section of the diner behind Earl, before deciding that unless the answer involved a gun siege and some mimes it probably wasn't worth knowing. She focussed on the booth to the left of the one Sophie had claimed as her own in every way short of marking it with urine. Well, everyone hoped that was the case but Max had made sure neither she nor Caroline or Earl sat there if it could be avoided.

The three guys didn't look like much; at least, not distinctive enough to vanish from her mind the moment the shift was over. The scruffy redhead with the big eyes was reading the insert of Earl's CD; and thus his place in Max's affections immediately rose. She liked anyone who'd buy his music, and especially someone who did it without immediately bigging up to everyone that they were edgy for enjoying black jazz and trying to look cool. Unlike so many of the phoneys and hipsters, this shaggy-haired lumberjack type wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was a bit hairy but she'd been with worse, and sometimes of her own volition.

The middle kid - and he was still a kid - was kind of cute. He looked like he'd been attacked by two competing hairdressers simultaneously and left with a cross between a crew-cut and a mullet, but he had a shy smile and a light brown tan that complimented a tricolour plastic trenchcoat which was the most awesome apparel Max had seen all week. Thye kid was trying not to stare at her too openly, but at the same time not look like he was avoiding her. So he ended up seeming to follow a drunken fly that was circling Max's breasts but never crossing them. Max felt like smiling and ruffling his hair at such lame but heartfelt gallantry.

It was obvious that those two were the "OK" customers, but Max was mildly taken aback by the last one. The only Aborigine she knew much about was a guy called Ernie Dingo, who had one of the coolest names she'd ever heard of. But this guy looked like an Indigenous Australian who had been possessed by the spirit of a metrosexual Asian teenager with a fetish for neon colours and a desire to return to the values of Studio 54.

His acid pink T-shirt with the huge letter "I" on it suggested a bit of an ego too.

"Hey," Max said cheerfully, and all three looked up at her. "In all the crass and unnecessary abuse towards my girl Caroline, I couldn't help but notice she didn't ask you three if you wanted anything to drink."

"_Your girl_ Caroline," repeated the kid as if he'd been told his puppy had cancer.

The redhead shoved his bottom lip out and raised his eyebrows; it was like he was shrugging using only his face. Then he looked back at the CD. "Called it," he said in a rich, lilting voice Max didn't often hear after Saint Patrick's Day. "Do you do banana milkshakes?"

"Sorry, only regular customers get to know if my sex life involves fresh fruit."

She smiled at the kid who looked like his skeleton and skin wanted to be in different places. Blondie hipster didn't react, while the redhead looked up from the CD. He didn't seem remotely shocked. "Do you _serve_ milkshakes at this diner?" he asked in a louder voice, enunciating his words as if he thought she was hard of hearing.

Max shurgged. "Hey, at this diner, we serve anything if it can pay the tab."

The redhead sighed. "There's no chance of a milkshake here, then?"

"_Now_ you're getting it," Max told him with a smirk.

"Any chance of a cup of tea?"

"Sure. Just not here."

"I'll go thirsty then," he sighed again, then looked to the kid. "What about you, Dave?"

Dave swallowed nervously. "Um, whatever you think goes best with cupcakes, miss."

"I find weed and deep-seated depression go best, but I'm all out of weed. Cuppa joe work for you?" she offered.

Dave nodded. Max didn't doubt he had no idea what he was agreeing to. She turned to the dark-skinned hipster who'd insulted Caroline. "And anything for you?" she asked, waiting to unleash a completely-improvised word death on his stupid head.

The hipster nodded. "Well, perhaps you could get a glass of something that you've spat in, or perhaps dunked a used tampon in? I'll drink the disgusting muck as penance for being rude to your girl. I got no excuse for it, and don't deserve polite treatment."

Max found herself in the very rare state of not knowing what to say.

"Dude!" Dave exclaimed, looking like he was going to be sick. "Who'd want to drink a used tampon?!"

"A vampire version of Heston Blumenthal?" the redhead suggested.

"I'm sorry, that is just gross," Dave groaned. "Nigel, man..."

The hipster Nigel turned his full attention to Max. "I really am sorry about being rude to Caroline, miss. I'd apologize to her myself, but I don't deserve a second chance," he said, lowering his head in shame.

Max opened her mouth to retort, but found nothing. If he'd said Caroline wouldn't accept it, she could have told him for thinking he was holier-than-thou; if he'd refused to say sorry, she could have cut him down for his arrogance. But how do you insult someone who's already trash-shamed themselves?

"Okay," she said, tearing off the order form and scribbling an instruction on the back. "If you do this, then we'll call it quits."

Max handed Nigel the page. He glanced at it, frowned and then shrugged. "Sorry, I can't read that handwriting." He handed it to Dave. "That make any sense to you?"

The kid peered at the note. "Um... something about kneeling..."

"_Kneeling?_ I thought that was 'keening'..."

"Could be 'kneading'?" Dave shrugged.

"Kneading?" Nigel turned to Max. "Something to do with bread dough?"

Max felt a stab of pain. Thanks to the endless collage of shame and institutionalized crapness that was her life, her education hadn't been of the standard His Highness Obama would brag about to the rest of the UN. How many times had she been graded down, not for failing to answer a question correctly, but because her penmanship would be indecipherable? Worse, these dinky-di Aussies wouldn't know that. Nigel might have been winding her up, but the kid Dave was genuinely unable to read her writing.

True, this was a harbinger of the apocalypse. Max Black was making herself look stupid.

The redhead took the note. "Let me," he tutted. "Now, 'e' is the most common letter, so logically the most common symbol so if we can use that as the key..."

"Always assuming it's being spelt correctly," Nigel pointed out.

The hipster bastard wasn't even mocking Max, he was just automatically pointing out a flaw in the hobbit's logic! Max almost blanched behind her makeup. What the hell was going on? This day-glo Aborigine was demolishing her without even intending to do so!

"Um, miss," said Dave, like a three-year-old nervously asking a teacher if they could go to the bathroom, "maybe you could just tell Nigel here how to say sorry? Save a bit of time?" He shot his companion a glare. "You'll do it, won't you, Nige?"

Nigel snorted. It was contemptuous noise that made Max want to punch him there and then.

"I think I can do better than that."

Suddenly he stood upright and effortlessly shrugged off his T-shirt to reveal a slim and not unattractive body beneath. The abs were not as toned and mesmirizing as Robbie had been, but Max couldn't deny this guy could go topless in a gym without fear or favor. She glanced at Dave and the hobbit, but they were as taken aback by this behavior as she was.

"Oh, what are you doing _now?_" gasped Dave, mortified with embarrassment.

Nigel didn't reply but stepped out of the booth, past Max and strode towards the kitchen counter with a confidence that was somewhere between intimidating and laughable.

"Max, you ain't been telling customers we accept sexual favors instead of money again, have you?" complained Earl. "You know there has to be enough for everyone else it's just not fair..."

Max's eyes boggled in surprise, an almost unheard-of expression for her, but she quickly regained control and hurried after Nigel.

"Feel free to call the police," said the hobbit cheerfully. "Like we care!" he chuckled.

Nigel had paused by the counter, filled a glass from the water carafe and then poured it over himself. His blonde hair turned a dark lime colour as his wierd bangs suddenly became a shell of petal-like locks clinging close to his skull. The water trickled down his body, highlighting muscle lines hitherto invisible in his dark flesh.

Max refused to be fazed. "Hey, Crocodile Dundee's gay best friend, we're used to a higher quality of male prostitute in this country. Plus I think your friend stole all your body hair and put it to better use - either you annoyed the entire staff of a waxing salon, something that now I mention seems almost _guaranteed to occur_, or your age is less than your IQ and you're jail bait. On the other hand, going to jail might be worth it, given you get a _better_ quality of boyfriend inside than what you're offering a girl right now..."

Nigel ignored her and strode into the kitchen like he owned the place. Oleg was pouring the waffle mix into the maker, and showed no interest in the fact a half-naked black guy was wondering through the staff-only part of the diner. Knowing Oleg, it was probably a reminder of some good-old-days at a tranvestite orgy.

"Hey, is Caroline around here?" asked Nigel as he entered.

Oleg nodded in the direction of the cupcake shop. "Through there."

"Cheers," was the reply and Nigel made for the back room that lead to Max's Homemade Cupcakes without missing a step.

Max glanced at the variety of knifes in their holsters on the walls above the sink. For the first time she wondered if Nigel might actually be violent - and she quickly worked out a few devastating kicks that would sort him out.

Then she remembered _he was going after Caroline._

Without breaking stride, she grabbed one of the butcher knifes and charged after him...


	6. Chapter 6

Nigel was no expert at interior design, but it was obvious this segment of the diner was isolated from the rest of the cultural leprosy that had rotted away the rest of the decor. It was neat, clean, bright and tasteful with a main work table set up in front of a window board that presumably opened onto the street.

Caroline was there, arranging cupcakes on a plate and clearly trying to guess how many would make a good meal but also make a decent profit. She looked up in surprise as he entered, her eyes widening as she saw his state of undress. Like many women, they could be as mesmirized by toplessness just as most guys could be.

"I'm here to apologize," Nigel said, lowering his head in shame and nimbly falling to his knees, arms wide in supplication like a disgraced samurai. "I was offensive and unjustified in my anger, and wish for forgiveness. It's probably frustration due to my smaller-than-average genitals," he mused, then flashed a grin. "Nah, I'm lying about that bit. But I am sorry and stupid. How do I make it up to you?"

Caroline stared down at him, then looked up at the door. "Are you forcing him to do this at knifepoint?" she asked, uneasy but not shocked at the idea.

Nigel glanced over his shoulder in time to see the brunette waistress hide a butcher knife behind her back and smile with forced happiness at him. "Nope!" she said brightly. "This was totally _all_ his idea, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it was," said Nigel, trying not to shiver at the thought of that knife plunging into his naked back. "So, how do I make amends, Miss Caroline?"

Caroline looked at her friend, who was surreptitiously trying to return the knife to its wall holder. She shrugged. Caroline shrugged back. "Uh, well..."

"_You_ name it," Nigel vowed, a suggestive eyebrow arched, "and _I'll_ do it."

Caroline frowned in concentration, then gave a wicked smile which would have been more at home on her girlfriend's face.

"Well, then. OK..."

-x-x-x-

Still holding the crumpled order sheet in his hand, Andrew strode through the door into the kitchen. "Nigel, I've worked it out," he boomed. "It's actually '_knife and plus sign_' and the next word is clearly 'urethra' so I'm guessing it's going to take more to satisfy Miss Dushku than..."

Andrew realized there was no one there but a tall, gangly cook with curly black hair on his face, head, arms, chest and various gaps in his grubby clothes.

"Sorry about this," Andrew said, "but have you seen a Japanese-raised Aborigine walk through here, about so high, bleach-blonde hair, glasses, looking like a rather sup-par giggolo being chased by a waitress?"

The cook nodded to the rear of the kitchen. "He went through there, to the cupcake shop," he explained, uninterested. "But his attempts to seduce them will come to naught. Those two only have eyes for each other and possibly a thoroughbred horse."

"All the girls like a stud," Andrew agreed, then stopped. "Is that a _Ukranian_ accent?" he asked, grinning in delight.

The cook looked up. "Yes," he said proudly. "And I speak Ukranian, not Russian, or whatever is now the official language of the southern oblasts!"

"Good for you!" Andrew cheered. "Turchynov was a fool to vetoe repealing regional languages! President? Pah! What a philistine!"

The cook was impressed. "You are Ukranian?"

"Alas, I do not have that honour," sighed Andrew. "Australian, but some of my best friends support the revolution. And Ukraine's a fascinating place! Built out of mammoth bones by Neanderthal settlers, the first most powerful European state before the Ruin, then instrumental in the space race and with such biodiversity it's still one of the breadbaskets of the planet!"

"It is also craphole," the cook pointed out. "Hence my leaving."

"I'm not surprised, that political situation has flipped back and forth more time than _Glee _characters dating each other!" Andrew agreed. "But if I'd known there was a Ukranian cook, I wouldn't have asked for some yuppie yank slop! How about a round of nalisnyky pancakes topped up with some fresh hulbsti?"

"And people think we only eat dumplings!" huffed the cook. "My name is Oleg!"

"Call me Andriy Shevchenko!" said Andrew, extending his hand.

"You related to him?" asked Oleg, interested at the mention of the famous footballer.

"Who knows?" Andrew shrugged.

-x-x-x-

Dave was sitting in the booth, all alone. It was almost a comforting situation, given he was used to being abandoned by people. When the most important figures in your life do a simultaneous runner the first chance they get and leave without another word, everything else seemed to pale. Dave only stayed with Andrew and Nigel because they all knew he had nowhere else to go. A crummy job in a DVD store called _Frontier Videos,_ a shabby third of their apartment and a nagging sense of spiritual desolation.

It was enough to make anyone depressed. At times Dave felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean with only a lungful of air. Every bubble of breath that he lost could not be regained. No matter how positive or get going he was, no matter what he'd drunk or pills he'd popped, it was just diminishing return after diminishing return.

He caught himself smiling as he remembered the waitresses, Caroline and her friend. It was like that old _Batman_ movie with Two-Face, who was a nice guy on the right side and a bastard on the other. Even his house was split in two, a crackden to the left and a mansion to the right. He even had twin girlfriends, one a high society lady and the other trailer trash, each matching his yin and yang.

Those waitresses were a bit like that. Yin and yang. The delicate pretty blonde who looked so innocent and friendly, and the surly, busty brunette with the wicked smile and sad eyes. Dave was a middle child, a quiet kid, he knew about body language and non-verbal communication. He saw how close they were, how they stood, how comfortable they were around each other - the blonde often made lots of hand gestures and might occasionally brush the boobs of the brunette, who didn't seem to notice. No standing back, no flirty exchanges. They were totally at ease with each other.

John Lennon said true love wasn't about sex or desire, it was about being totally relaxed around each other. Not having to pretend. Total acceptance. Safety.

Yeah, those girls were in love, that was obvious.

Dave had loved a girl like that once. She'd loved him back. Till she ditched him. Mind you, he didn't blame her. _He_ wouldn't put up with himself anyway. He was an ugly, miserable anti-social screwup who couldn't even get pity sex from a lesbian sober. And that had been one of the _good_ times!

Still, he felt better for seeing those two girls and true love. They deserved better than having a horny Nigel and a bored Andrew going all Hurricane Katrina on their lives. And who's fault was it they were here?

His. _Again._

Dave sucked in another gulp of air, got to his feet and crossed to Earl. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I think I should probably talk to the manager."

"Now, why in hell's name would you do something like that?" asked Earl.

"I think my friends are going to cause a lot of fuss, so maybe I should apologize to the manager first. That way, Caroline and the other girl won't get in trouble."

"Oh, those girls'll be fine," said Earl with fatherly pride. "They handled worse and even managed to convince Han to let them do strip-dancing for the Superbowl!" He frowned. "At least, I _think_ they did. I was finishing off some acid at the time. May not have actually happened. But if it _did,_ boy, did you miss out!"

Dave laughed. "Probably did. But maybe I should talk to the manager anyway."

Earl shrugged. "Your choice, son. Over yonder," he said, indicating the short alcove to the right of the kitchen. "The one that _doesn't_ contain a toilet is the one you want, but probably best not to risk doing your business there anyway."

"Thanks."

Dave crossed to the alcove and peered into the serving window to see Andrew and a chef nearly as hairy as him talking very loudly at each other. Shrugging, Dave checked the doors and found the furthermost one marked **_MANAGEMENT._ **He knocked on the door.

The little old lady from earlier opened it. "Yes, can I help you?" she said.

"Oh, hello," said Dave, feeling like he should bend over to address her. "Yeah, my friends and I came in a little while ago and then your waitresses came over..."

"Oh, no," sighed the manager. "What they do this time?"

It occured to Dave the lady didn't actually look that old. She might just be a kid after all. He'd known that Nigel's adopted family, the Yangs, had several daughters that were college-grade smart before they reached puberty - so it was perfectly possible to Dave a young girl was running a place like this, at least while the grown-ups were away.

"Nothing," Dave said, before adding quickly "I mean, _they_ didn't do anything wrong. They're all nice and helpful. It's my friends that are causing the ruckus. Our, uh, holiday's going totally deranged and they're not in the best of moods. I just want to make sure that neither of your girls are blamed for it. It's not their fault."

The young/old woman stared at him. "Is Max forcing you to say that?"

Dave glanced around. Was one of the girls involved with this cupcake making guy? Was that the hairy chef? Did he have a history of over-protective violence? "No. I just didn't want them to get in trouble."

"Those girls get into trouble more often than Charlie Sheen at a free cocaine convention," huffed the manager, rolling her eyes. "But I understand your concern. Maybe you need better friends?"

Dave sighed. "Yeah. But those two are all I have."

"Are you not on facebook?" exclaimed the manager, incredulously. "Does Australia not have

the internet yet?"

"Oh, we do," Dave shrugged. "But our broadband is slower than a director's cut of the _Hobbit_ trilogy on slow-play. Thanks for this, though, miss."

"_Mister,_" corrected the woman.

"Yes! Mister!" Dave added, cursing himself for not realizing a transsexual when he saw one. "Sorry, I... uh... have a cold. Mister. _Sir!_" He saluted with a cheesy grin as various parts of him requested to curl up and die of shame. "And I love your restaurant, by the by. Hungry Jacks can so suck it!"

The manager gave him a wary look, then turned back to his... her... _hir_ office.

Dave turned and nonchalantly turned away, before grimacing and running off.

-x-x-x-

"I always thought quark was a subatomic particle," Andrew was saying to Oleg as they made cabbage rolls stuffed with everything that could be found in the kitchen, "but it turns out it's just a rather runny cheese?"

"Also makes very good lube," Oleg agreed.

"Well, naturally - that's why babies have that waxy stuff on them when they're born. Greased with diary wax..."

"Is many miracles in nature," Oleg agreed. "But many more on craiglist."

"Craiglist? What's that? _Schindler's List_ for the twenty-first century?"

At that moment Nigel shambled from the rear of the compound. He was caked in what seemed to be a thick layer of crusty, coffe-smelling mud with chocolate icing on his chest forming the words **_MAX BLACK IS AWESOME._ **His hair was matted with hundreds and thousands, and streaks had been added with ketchup. Every footstep kicked up a mini-cloud of flour.

"Nigel?" asked Andrew, taken aback.

The figure peeled off his pince nez glasses to reveal a perfect figure-of-eight around his eyes that was free of flour, coffee, ketchip and chocolate. "Think I've managed to clear the air with them," he rasped, coughing on some icing sugar.

Andrew went back to the cabbage rolls. "I'm not even going to _ask._"

-x-x-x-

Dave wandered back into the main diner area. There still didn't seem to be anyone else in the diner. Trust their luck to arrive in Brooklyn on the slowest night of the year and have to leave before anything started happening.

Why bother?

It was a question that often plagued Dave. After all, he had nothing to go back to at the end of the day - a family he'd all-but-cut-himself-off and were undoubtedly better off without him. The love of his life was in Prague enjoying an existence he couldn't have ever given her. Andrew and Nigel had often made it clear that he was at best a hinderance to their fascinating and demented lives as a jack-of-all trades part-time DI exorcist and celebrity nymphomaniac respectively.

He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Nineteen years of wasted potential and disappointment to all those he cared about. And he'd _tried_ to be a good person and a competent student, only to lose it all.

It occured to Dave that life got better for people the more he _wasn't_ around. He was like pluntonium, with his absence doing nothing but improving things. What was it his old Turkish neighbor told him was written in the Qur'an?

_Everyone in the world does things for a reason. But the best reason is to be good to other people._

The only good he could achieve was to get the hell out of Dodge.

"Heh," he chuckled out aloud. "Five minutes in New York and I've gone native."

"What's that, son?" asked Earl, tugging an earphone away to hear better.

"Sorry, sir," Dave apologized. He looked at Earl. The man was clearly very old, but there was a youthfulness to him that made him ageless. "Can I ask how old you are?"

"Seven decades and change, brother," Earl replied.

"So... in your experience... do things get better?"

Earl gazed at him, as if unsure if this was a joke. "Well, it certainly _started_ well with the abolition of slavery but it's not been going anywhere fast."

Dave felt the last gasp of oxygen burn away in his lungs. He smiled again. "Thanks, sir," he said and then turned and went back to his booth. He got out his signal-free mobile phone and started to draft out a text message.

Suicide note by text was probably a bit lame, but there was no one he could talk to face to face, so this was the way it would have to go. Besides, he'd just made sure those two girls wouldn't get in trouble for what happened with the others.

Best to go out on a high, right?


	7. Chapter 7

Max returned the mop to the storage closet, having finished cleaning up the remains of the pastry torture they'd inflicted on Nigel. "Is it just me, or was that a little wierd?" she asked Caroline as she stepped back into the kitchen.

Caroline gave her that sideways look of hers. "Ya _think?_" she suggested.

"I was sure he was going to break," Max went on. "But he never did. And he wasn't even getting any kind of kinky thrill out of it - and, for the record, he was missing out."

"Maybe he really _was_ sorry," Caroline suggested.

"Oh no," said Max confidently. "Guys never act like that when they're sorry. It's always '_OK, woman, you were right, do we have to talk about this any more?_' He was practically rubbing our noses in it."

"Which was kinda ironic, given what we made him do," Caroline pointed out with a smirk.

"You think he was trying to make us feel guilty?"

"For not liking him being rude? That's a liberty."

"Yeah. I don't know what his angle is," Max mused, flicking her hair out of her eyes. "And I _always_ know what a guy's angle is, because it's usually at forty-five degrees out of the front of his pants and searching for my salty goodness."

"Maybe he wanted to impress us?" Caroline suggested. "I mean, if we're the first American girls he's met..."

"Maybe," Max agreed. "Isn't Kylie Minogue like, shorter than Han?"

"She _is_ pretty tiny," Caroline mused. "Hey, maybe that's how Aussie guys act around girls, doing anything to make them feel better and laugh?"

"Then why didn't he take off his pants and kill two birds with one stone?" Max retorted.

"No, the only guy who's ever acted like that was..." She bit her lip.

"Deke," completed Caroline quietly.

"Yeah," said Max lightly, ignoring the hurt in her impressively-ample chest. "He was _kind_ of like Deke, except he was obviously dead and soulles inside." Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, we're a perfect match!"

"Except he doesn't live in a dumpster, he lives in Australia."

Max smirked. "I could totally have killed that set-up, Caroline, but we should probably make sure the other two are actually getting fed. What with us being waitresses."

"Only for another three hours," Caroline said. "Then we're brave, go-getting cupcake-selling superheroes of the feminist free-enterprise movement."

"Before we go back to being two broke albeit incredibly sexy girls," Max reminded her. "Don't let food-fighting a docile Aussie tourist make you go mad with power. Tom Cruise made that mistake, and that was a gateway thing..."

"Fine," Caroline said with a sigh as if granting an undeserved boon to some pathetic beggar, despite how close she now lived to the poverty line - something Max was always around to remind her in thought and deed. "Still, we should probably get them something to eat anyway. What with us being waitresses."

"Tch! Skip to the next track already," huffed Max as she took the plate of cupcakes for Dave and headed into the kitchen.

Oleg was frying what appeared to be wrinkled green sausages with an enthusiasm he rarely showed for anything less than the exchange of bodily fluids. The spicy beef burger was incomplete and lacking the "special mayo" reserved for the worst customers. "Hey, Oleg," Caroline protested, "where's the waffles and chicken?"

"The friendly Australian wants proper Ukranian food."

"Has he swallowed some poison and needs to induce vomiting?" asked Max.

"You scoff, but this is food actually made to be eaten!" Oleg huffed. "It is food I care about and want to be good. Only the best prostitutes would be given food like this."

"Yeah, and I bet they still ask for money instead," Caroline shrugged. "Well, looks like the cupcake guy is the only one getting fed any time soon."

"He deserves it," Max said. "Did you see his dope coat?"

"Careful, Max, you're on the verge of liking a customer."

"At least it isn't _licking_ a customer. Coz I've been there more often than I like to admit."

"Haven't we all?" Oleg said with a wistful smile.

-x-x-x-

Dave was re-reading his suicide note. He thought it was rather good, although he didn't really have much experience to compare it to. Quite simply it was a statement that he loved his family and friends and wished them all the best, with a request that his possessions be sent back to his family with permission to sell them if money got tight.

It felt strangely cheering to have got that out of the way, and he was looking at one of the few photos he had on the phone of the girl he loved. It was a picture several years old but he looked at her porcelin features and flame red head hair, her delicate snub nose and big green eyes, the freckles on her cheeks... He might have lost her completely, but for a while they'd loved each other. Better than nothing.

He was torn out of his wistful musings as the waitresses returned to the booth.

The brunette put a plate of cupcakes before him, along with a big tea-cup full of coffee. Dave couldn't stand coffee, the stink of the beans making him want to retch, but he made a valiant attempt to ignore it. "Oh, thank you," he said, trying not to breathe through his mouth. "Looks delicious."

"Oh, it will be," she promised. "The beer-battered bacon and maple syrup is an aquired taste but believe me, you won't get it anywhere else."

"I bet," Dave said and smiled at Caroline. "Sorry I'm not a food reviewer or anything."

"Hey, nobody's perfect," she replied.

"Plus it means we can completely ignore you if you hate it," the brunette said cheerfully, but the smile on her red lips made Dave feel that, for once, he _hadn't_ been insulted.

Dave took the nearest cupcake and took a bite. The top cracked into sweet shards and melted against the roof of his mouth, mingling with the sudden rush of chocolate sludge on his tongue. It took a bit of effort to chew and swallow (particularly as he now had to breathe through his nose and inhale that hideous cocoa bean stench) but it was very good. Dave didn't have much to compare it to.

"Best cupcake ever," he gasped once he'd finished swallowing.

"Ah, what do you know, you ignorant tool?" the brunette smirked. "Seriously, though, it might be better if you don't eat the paper wrapping."

Dave blinked and saw indeed there was a mouth-like tear in the paper skirt around the mushroom-shaped cake. "Oh," he said. "I thought that was like... frosted sugar or something. Are you _not_ supposed to eat those?"

"Well, I guess it counts as increased fibre," Caroline replied thoughtfully.

"You don't want to fill up on the wrappers too soon," the brunette advised. "Leave them for desert. Or possibly future toilet paper. They're not bad for that, though generally we use them before they've been on the cupcakes."

"She's exaggerating," Caroline said quickly with a forced grin.

Dave nodded. "Got that," he told her.

"Yeah, it's been like two months since we last had to do that," her girlfriend replied. "Where are you two ocker mates, Dave?" she asked.

-x-x-x-

"I keep telling you," said Andrew, shaking his head in mild despair, "it will work."

Nigel looked up from the sinks in the not-quite-as-disgusting-as-he-feared toilets, where he had been scrubbing at his face with water and whatever was contained in the soap dispensors. He still looked like the walking corpse some horrific clown, the white flour and icing mingling with his brown skintone to create a diseased yellow hue.

"I am not going to shove my head down the toilet while you flush repeatedly," he told Andrew, glaring at him in the reflection of the mirror.

"A counter-clockwise vortex of water will suck that gunge out of your hair."

"It'll wash out."

"No, it won't. You'll end up having to cut it all off and end up looking like a chemo patient. Albeit one without cancer. Or people who want to save your life."

Nigel lathered his face with soapy water and scrubbed away with some paper towels. His face was clearing up, but his hair was already crusted in an angular shape as though his hair had been styled by Picasso with a mohawk fetish. "Toilets aren't sanitary, Andrew."

"Urinals are," Andrew pointed out. "They're constantly being sterilized."

"I am _not_ washing my hair in a urinal!"

"Quite right! A toilet bowl would work much better..."

Nigel growled and awkward shoved his head into the sink, turning the cold tap on to full blast and trying to hose some of the muck off his hair.

"Why did you do it, Nige?" asked Andrew as he examined a bit of graffiti promising a good time if you called Max. "You can't possibly think you can seduce them."

"_Can't_ I?" Nigel gurgled from within the sink. "Don't tell me what I can and can't think I can seduce, you gonad!"

"Nigel, you have enough trouble trying to establish relationships with women in Australia. You've got a six hour deadline, you've insulted them both and also they're clearly a deeply loving couple who don't need you."

Nigel wrenched his head from the sink, his long hair snaking back like a whip and showering Andrew in filthy water.

"Deep down, _every_ vegetarian wants a bacon sandwich!"

"You don't seriously believe that, do you?" Andrew scoffed. "I know a fair few of your relatives take homosexuality very seriously indeed."

"And what about bisexuality?" Nigel challenged, tugging out a lump of cake mix from behind his ear. "Those girls could quite concievably be willing to a one-night-only hetero threesome. I don't want to get in between them. Well, not _emotionally._"

Andrew mopped his grubby singlet with a paper towel. "Nigel, have you ever considered your incredible lack of success in attracting women could be down to the way you _behave?_"

"I was a sex-god at High School."

"Yes, but you never treated girls like that."

"Of course not! They were all puberty-turned hormonal freaks! They didn't _need_ impressing, they had nothing to compare me to - apart from _The Book of Revelations,_ perhaps."

Andrew shook his head. "Fine. But just remember what they did to you when they thought you were a rude customer. If you _really_ upset them, you'll probably end up a missing persons statistic. And watch out for the blonde."

"The blonde's the nice one," Nigel pointed out.

Andrew gazed at him owlishly. "And _always_ beware the nice ones."

-x-x-x-

"Sure you don't want one?" asked Dave, indicating a cupcake out of politeness.

"When you make em twenty-four-seven, they kind of lose their allure," the brunette said as she perched on the edge of the table. _God,_ thought Dave wearily, _she's beautiful._ But then, they both were. Caroline was a girl you wanted to protect, while her dark-haired friend was the girl you wanted to protect _you._

Dave realized he still didn't know her name, but it felt beyond embarrassing to suddenly reveal he didn't know what she was called. He hadn't introduced himself, but the brunette was smart enough to have worked out his name without being told. _Ah,_ thought Dave, _but then not everyone's as pig-ignorant stupid as I am. Oh well, won't have to put up with that for much longer..._

"Hey, don't forget your coffee," said Caroline as she checked something on her phone.

Dave looked at the menacing brown-black concoction that looked like it had been drained from the spleen of a mummified corpse. "Thanks for reminding me," he lied, picked up the cup and drained it in one go like it was a lukewarm cup of tea.

Rancid, bitter, cloying gooey tea that seemed composed of half-digested choclate.

Dave tried not to throw up. He really did. His throat was outraged at the fact he was treating it so badly after nineteen years' loyal service and the rest of his digestive track was going "_we ain't having any of that crap, sunshine!_" and going on strike.

The brunette watched with amused apprehension as he gently placed the cup back on the saucer, bits of his body twitching as most of his face tried not to melt. "You're not a coffee drinker, are you, Davey?" she guessed.

"Oh," said Caroline, looking up, "can we get you something else?"

Dave shook his head. "Coffee's fine," he slurred. "Best ever."

Caroline's friend studied him and then she put on that face people do when they see a kitten being cute. "Aw," she said, "he's being all nice to us."

"And _not_ at knife-point," agreed Caroline, surprised. "It's OK, Dave, you don't have to pretend to like coffee to make us happy."

"As long as you're not pretending about the cupcakes."

Dave shook his head furiously and nearly threw up.

This made the girls go "Awww" again. It wasn't doing much for his sense of masculine pride, but two girls thinking you're a sweet dork is better than contemptuous blanking any day. "I, uh, well I guess you guys don't get paid much," he said.

"We work for tips," Caroline's friend explained.

Dave gulped. In one part of his head, he could hear a fussy voice telling some uppity working-class slob that a tip counted as fifteen per cent of the service fee and was _entirely_ down to the whim of payer and very much _not_ compulsory. It was accompanied by those TV adverts from the GFC telling people not to waste loose change in the current state of economy and now a nice tip could break your bank balance.

"Tips like money?" he asked, deliberately not eating the last cupcake.

"Well, fashion tips are welcome but Caroline here has a gambling issue, so no dead certs at the racetrack," her friend said.

Dave took out what money he had - thirteen American dollars and a handful of Australian change. "This is all I've got," he said apologetically. "Sorry, where I'm from, well, they pay wait staff a lot more. Tipping's not a big deal there."

Caroline tilted her head. "It's all right, Dave. I know what it's like to be out of your depth with no idea of how the basics of life on the streets."

"It's her default setting," he friend agreed.

"But," continued Caroline airily in the way Dave's sister would whenever she thought she could ask for a pony for Christmas, "if you want to invest in the cupcake fund...?"

"The what?" asked Dave, trying not to sound too suspicious.

"Caroline," her friend scolded her, "he has so little money if he got mugged it would probably give him a financial portfolio! He's not going to have two hundred and fifty grand on him - or else he'd be out in the red light district instead of trying to impress two waitresses in a diner."

"Ooh, he's blushing!" Caroline squealed.

They both "awwww"ed again.

"Sorry," Dave said, trying to shrink inside his coat. "I'm just damaged goods."

"Hey, you can't have 'damaged goods' without good in it," Caroline's friend pointed out. "Don't tell me you've never had a girlfriend before?"

"Oh, I have." Why bother lying? He was going to be dead by dawn. "But, you know. It didn't work out. I wasn't good enough for her."

The brunette arched an eyebrow. "She tell you that?"

Dave peeled the wrapper off the last cupcake. "She didn't need to."

"She really did a number on you, huh?" asked Caroline sympathetically.

"I bet she didn't even give you some sympathetic break-up sex first," fumed her friend. "Women, Dave. They're all fricken bitches. At least that's what Texas believes."

Dave looked up at them. "Anyone ever told you two how cool you are?"

"Puh-lease," the brunette said, holding up a hand, "they never stop!"

Dave laughed. "You sure there's nothing I can do to, you know, make up for the lack of tipping?"

The girls exchanged looks and smiles, just long enough for Dave to begin to worry.

-x-x-x-

"_Gaston!_" bellowed Andrew as he re-entered the kitchen. "Where's my traditional Ukranian cabbage rolls?"

"Ah, Andriy," the cook said, offering a plate of fried green tubes. "Rice, bacon, mushroom, tomato juice and no tofu whatsoever! Fit for a peasant you find attractive enough to have sex with, or perhaps the elder brother of one."

Andrew took the plate gratefully. "I like it!" he grinned, stretching the word '_like_' to a full four seconds. He picked up one and bit the end off happily. "Oh, now this is the stuff worth fighting the revolution for! You're wasted flipping burgers, Oleg!"

"Perhaps, but all the sex I get is ample compensation."

Andrew laughed. "You are the anti-matter opposite of some people I could mention! Thanks for this, Oleg and remember - no matter what, _always_ have tarragon on hand."

Oleg held a hand up as if taking a pledge. "Tarragon and tampons," he agreed. "With both _any_ man can become a true hero."

Chuckling, Andrew emerged from the kitchen and back into the diner. The little old Korean lady in the sweater seemed to be glaring at him, so he waved and went to sit down at the booth. Dave was gazing at That Photo on his phone as he chewed and sucked the remnants from the wrappers of his consumed cupcakes.

"Those waffles don't look too healthy," Dave observed.

"Oh, this is better than any sugary pancakes," Andrew replied, finishing the first of the rolls. "This is the sort of food that kept the Ukraine in charge of Europe for eight centuries. Until anyone _else_ got their act together anyway."

Nigel emerged from the bathroom. His normal golden bob of manga-like hair looked like a strawberry mudcake with dreadlocks and ugly stains and streaks covered his body, as if he'd had sex in a pile of baking goods. Again.

Shooting a glare at the Korean lady loitering at the toilets, he crossed to the others. "Where's my damn spicy beef burger?" Nigel huffed as he tugged his shirt back on.

"Probably still mooing in a field somewhere," Andrew retorted. "You seriously want to eat here? Those girls might have taken the tampon suggestion seriously..."

"Fine. I can eat elsewhere," the Aborigine grumbled, scratching more detritus from his hair. "I'm only here to give those two waitresses a vegemite sandwich."

Dave felt more nauseous than when he'd tried the coffee. "Nige..."

"What happens in Brooklyn _stays_ in Brooklyn," Nigel retorted.

"The diner closes in less than an hour," Andrew pointed out. "You won't even be dry by then, and there's no way those girls will take kindly to your stalking them home."

"Oh, they're not going home," Dave explained. "They do the graveyard shift at the cupcake shop out the back."

"_Max's Homemade Cupcakes?_" asked Andrew intrigued.

"Uh-huh."

"I really would like to meet this Max guy," Andrew said through another mouthful of fried cabbage roll. "He sounds like Chuck Norris with the safety off."

"Well, we'll just hang outside their shop and patronize them," Nigel proclaimed.

"Even _I_ know girls hate being patronized," said Dave.

"Not that sort of patrony, you concussed stoat!" Nigel snapped. "To patronize a store? Patrons? Customers? Supporters? Christ, does no one speak English any more?"

"You don't, you're legally Japanese," Dave retorted.

"And proud of it," Nigel sniffed. "Indigenous Australians aren't exactly a global super power, are they?"

"What if Caroline and the love of her life shut the store and call it an early night rather than dealing with you for the rest of the evening?" Andrew asked pointedly.

"Actually," Dave said, "I thought we could help them out."

"Help? Out? Them? _We?_" repeated Nigel, confused.

"They've been really nice, and we've got nowhere else to go," Dave said. "And they really do awesome cupcakes. So I said if there was anything else we could do to help them out."

"Like what?" Nigel snorted. "Dress up as cupcakes and try and get them more customers?"

Dave stared at him. "Wow," he said at last. "Good guess."

Andrew sighed very deeply. "Of course. Great. We have less than twenty-four hours in America and you force us to spend most of them in giant foam cupcake outfits. Yet I can't even find the energy to be surprised."

Behind his glasses, Nigel rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend you had anything better to do!"

"Yeah," Dave agreed with a smile. "It could be fun."

Andrew shot him a withering look. "_Could_ it? Really?"

"Why not? Live each day like your last, that's my motto."

"Since when?" Andrew challenged.

Dave beamed at them. "Since today."


	8. Chapter 8

"Max," said Caroline, crestfallen, "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Wait-wait-wait-wait," her best friend said, fumbling in her apron for her phone. "I have got to get a recording of that to be played back whenever you ever suggest anything _ever_ again. It might be the only thing to keep you in reality..."

It was rapidly approaching closing time, and there'd been absolutely no customers bar Dave and his friends. Oleg had clocked off early and went off to find some more Ukranian recipes to convince Han that boiled cabbage was way better than chicken club sandiwches. The girls were tidying up the kitchen area alone.

"I mean, getting them to act as walking sandwich boards for the shop," Caroline continued. "We're just using them for our own ends."

"And that is different from what we normally do _how?_" Max challenged. "We only feed them because they give us money, and we make cash by making people eat unhealthy food at a time of the night the digestive system is at its weakest!"

"Aw. I feel bad now," the blonde sighed.

"Look, girl," said Max firmly, "we aren't going to get anywhere being all Mahatari Ghandi about this. If _we_ don't take advantage of those Australian losers, someone else will and at least we will be incredibly sexy and stylish about it. Well, _I'll_ be. You just follow my lead and try not to go all flaky."

"I'm just thinking about little Dave," Caroline said, heading into the cupcake shop.

"How do you know he's little?" Max challenged. "Did I miss the good bits?"

"Don't joke, Max. That guy was crushed. That girl left him thinking he's less appealing to the opposite sex than a combination of genital warts, mestruation and the Kardashians."

"Or, to put it another way, the Kardashians."

"Guess so. But he's so fragile-looking."

"It's probably an act to get us to spread our legs," Max said, getting the shop ready.

"He's not the one that came in here shirtless and let us humiliate him with baked goods."

"OK, so both he and his pal Nigel are trying to get us into bed. Big deal." Max delved into the cupboard and collected their black working T-shirts. "We're letting them off the lack-of-tips thing, which even Dave gets is pretty major."

"He just seemed so sad," Caroline said softly. "And apparently he's going back to Australia tomorrow. It's not like we've got time to help him get laid like we did with Han."

"I deny that reality," Max replied. "Also, just threw up a little in my mouth."

"Maybe you should do him," Caroline suggested.

"Shut up!"

"Come on, Max - you showed me your bucket list and doing an Australian was near the top of the list. And, yes, I know it was a threesome with Dame Edna and Oprah, but can you imagine what a babe like you will do to his self-esteem?"

"Yeah, he'll probably start crying," Max retorted. "Jeez, why are you trying to pimp me out to random customers all the time?"

"Giving him something to be happy about," Caroline went on. "And I'm not the one who wrote their phone number everywhere with a promise for a good time, am I?"

"Well, not with _that_ attitude!" Max huffed. "Look, I'm miserable and depressed. Do you ask passers-by to cheer me up with sex?"

"I don't need to! Phone numbers everywhere, remember?"

"Look, the kid's sweet and he's got a dope coat," Max went on. "But as he clearly doesn't have washboard abs, a cheating heart or a millionaire-funded dumpster palace, he's clearly not my type. Why don't _you_ seduce him? Are you and the shower-head going steady again?"

Caroline sighed. "It's just... the only time I felt as bad as he looks was on the subway before you turned up and saved me. I kinda hate the idea of not helping someone that low."

"Hey, I offered you a place to stay and still haven't murdered you yet. Dave doesn't need the former, and I don't recall me ever having sex with you to cheer you up, even after that incident with the 80s lesbian scalp and the sleep deprivation."

"Unlike Katy Perry or Ellen Degeneres, I am not into girls," Caroline said.

"Unless they're giving _me_ a lapdance?" suggested Max with a wicked grin.

Caroline's porcelin cheeks flushed beet red and she was suddenly fascinated with the coffee machine. "If you can think of a better way to cheer up an emotionally-devastated teenager who has been kinder to us than every other customer put together, then do it."

"Already done!" Max said, rolling her eyes. "We head up to Sophie's and get back those cupcake outfits which, hopefully, won't require _too_ much sterilizing after what she and Oleg got up to with them, and get Dave and Andrew and Nigel - or, as I call them, DAN - to pester the locals until they need a cupcake comedown, then send them on their way."

"You really think that'd cheer him up?" asked Caroline doubtfully.

"Uh, how could it _not?_" Max exclaimed. "Just cause _you_ can't see the potential of cupcake-shaped mischief, doesn't mean someone from down under can't. Dude, that is the homeplace of the Chaser team, who make the Islamic State look like a bunch of killjoys!"

The door to the dinner swung open and Han waddled in. "Mex! Carolin! The strange hairy Australian says he and his two friends are working for you in this cupcake shop!"

"And he told you?" Max was dubious.

Han avoided her gaze. "He was trying to make conversation; he think my parents accidently left me in diner and wanted to call police." He scowled. "But that doesn't matter. Since when can you afford to hire helpers? How much money are you making?"

"Slow down, Scrooge McMidget," Max said. "We're nowhere near the target yet."

"So why are they working for you?" He gasped. "You're not paying with sex are you?"

"Han! Of course not!" Caroline gasped.

"Yeah, we gotta save that for the retirement pension," Max added. "We just asked them to help out and being the true blue Aussie pals they are, they agreed."

"For free?"

"Yep."

Han cursed in Korean. "I could have got them first! This could have really cut the overheads and ended the busting of my balls on the budget!"

"Han, I _like_ the busting of your balls," Max said. "It keeps your voice soprano."

The little manager glared up at her. "And you only just met these people?"

"Earl's known them longer than we have," Caroline confirmed.

"Oh, really?" Han arched an eyebrow. "And they don't know you but they _are_ happy to work for you for nothing and even come into my office and make sure you don't get into trouble for all the work you have not been doing tonight?"

"Huh? Whatchoo talking bout, Li?" Max drawled.

"The one in the trenchcoat and the sad eyes came up to me as soon as you two came on shift and begged me not to blame you for anything his strange friends did tonight."

"We didn't ask him to do that," Caroline protested.

"So he just did it out of the good of his obviously-broken heart?" Han scoffed. "He is saint as well as Australian? Mex, Carolin, it is not good lying to me like this. I thought we were friends."

"We are!" Max protested. "After Chestnut, you're our littlest pony!"

Han sighed. "Well, goodnight then, laydeez. I look forward to tomorrow where more customers will rush into my office out of the goodness of their hearts and tell me not to worry about anything you do..." He wandered off again.

"Can you believe that?" Max protested. "He actually thinks I wouldn't take responsibility for my own actions? Hey, Han!" she yelled after him. "On second thoughts, that French guy stabbed _himself,_ I just couldn't pay a guy to tell you at the time and took the wrap myself!" She turned back to Caroline. "I'd complain to his mother if I could be sure I was talking to her and not Han with a more masculine voice..."

"Max," said Caroline in that slow, awed voice she used whenever she had a revelation. "Dave went in to see Han to make sure we didn't get in trouble _before_ we even met! That's so sweet of him! Oh, you've _got_ to have sex with him now!" she said excitedly.

"And the survey said something unsuitable for a primetime timeslot," Max replied dully. "Come on, Caroline. This is just a long-winded trick for him to get into our pants. He's probably got a string of hos from Adelaide to somewhere in Australia that starts with Z. Everything he's done is calculated to make us lower our admittedly not-very-high standards and sex him till his eyes change colour."

"You really believe that?" asked Caroline.

"No," Max sighed. "But I make it a policy not to sleep with anyone who has more emotional problems than I have. Why do you think I've never gotten you drunk and had my wicked way with you?"

"Because you know I'd rock your world," Caroline replied haughtily. "Plus, you're saving yourself for my dad."

"There's the truth," Max agreed. "And you better get used to calling me 'Stepmom', little girl."

Caroline laughed. "Seriously. I'd feel bad if we didn't help Dave out."

"And I'd feel bad putting a _'for rent'_ sign outside my vagina." Max blinked. "Well, _another_ one."

"You got a better idea?"

"As a matter of fact I do. It's subtle, cunning, unexpected and slicker than than that liquid metal Terminator."

"You're going to get Sophie to bang him?" suggested Caroline without any hesitation.

"Pretty much," Max agreed.

Caroline nodded. "Worth a try."


	9. Chapter 9

"_What about everything?_" Dave was crooning to himself. "_What about aeroplanes and what about ships that dredge the sea?_"

"Please," Nigel groaned. "Just shut up."

"_What about, what about the moon and stars? What about soldier battle scars and all the anger and their hate?_"

"They invented walkmans for this exact reason," Nigel protested. "You listen to the music and no one else has to have you polluting the airwaves. You're a _suppurating_ boil, not _Susan_ Boyle!"

"_What about, what about aliens? What about you and me and what about gold beneath the sea?_"

"Please, I'll buy you an iPod! A cone of silence with a karaoke machine but just - stop - singing!"

"_What about, what about when buildings fall? What about that midnight phone call - the one that wakes you from your peace?_"

"Andrew! If this talentless, shrunken testicle doesn't shut his damn mouth then by tomorrow he will be another Brooklyn crime statistic!" Nigel shouted to their companion, who was saying goodbye to Earl.

"You know, if you ever happen to be passing New South Wales, there are plenty of pubs that would welcome a musician of your standing with open arms," Andrew was saying. "We might not have a black Prime Minister, or indeed a _human being_ as our Prime Minister, but we appreciate talent when we see it. Kyle Sandilands is the exception to the rule."

"That's very kind of you," said Earl as he tugged on his coat. "But frankly my chances of living long enough to get back to my place are low enough, let alone crossing to the other side of the planet."

"What is mortality but something to be laughed at?" Andrew pondered solemnly.

"Tell me that when you're pushing eighty," Earl retorted.

"Ah!" Andrew snapped his fingers and pointed to Earl. "So you _do_ intend to be around that long!"

Earl chuckled and performed one of those intricate yet cool black handshakes that Andrew somehow managed to complete. The old man tapped the brim of his hat and made his way out of the diner as Andrew turned back to the others. "I hope I'm half as cool as he is when I'm eight-fifths his age," he said, sitting down in the booth besides the others.

"What have I told you about using fractions in polite conversation, Andrew?" Nigel scolded.

Dave finished his crooning. "Ready to hustle some cupcakes?"

"Dave, you're looking at someone who could sell veal cutlets to a vegetarian but has the scruples not to," Andrew replied.

"While I am the person who intends to have completed an eye-watering, nose-biting, sweat-coated threesome before dawn breaks," Nigel said confidently, folding his arms.

Dave sighed and rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. "Please, Nigel, don't do this..."

"Dave, everyone knows converting a lesbian brings you seven years good luck," Nigel reproached him. "A double-whammy is too good a chance to ignore, now, isn't it?"

"You're not going to have time," Dave said. "And, yes, I _am_ casting aspersions on your sexual performance."

"Then I'll settle for the brunette," Nigel retorted.

"I wonder why you chose her," said Andrew acidly.

"Two very good reasons," Nigel replied. "Plus she's clearly been round the block a couple of times. She's what, hurtling towards thirty? Bet she'll appreciate a young buck like myself."

"Maybe she'll feel dirty corrupting a minor like you," Dave snapped. "Plus, she's clearly in a loving relationship. She's not going to cheat on Caroline for someone like you."

Nigel laughed condescendingly. "David Mitchell Restal, you are clearly underestimating my sex appeal. And quite probably overestimating _her_ sense of self-respect."

Dave looked at Andrew. "You think if we told Caroline he said that, she'd kill him?"

"It's tempting to find out," he agreed.

-x-x-x-

Max strode out of the kitchen and effortlessly shrugged on her coat. "OK, Australian version of the three stooges," she called to the booth as she passed. "We got to get the cupcake costumes. Only two of them so one of you might as well stay here."

"Who could she possibily be referring to?" Dave wondered innocently.

"Well, my hot bod would be best served in the kitchen area," Nigel said confidently.

"Great," Max said brightly. "I don't want you knowing where I live anyway."

Nigel's face fell. "What?!" he exclaimed.

"A and D..." Max began, then sniggered. "A-N-D. That's like your initials."

"At least you didn't go N-A-D," Andrew grinned, getting to his feet.

"See you round, Nige," Dave added, crossing to join the waitress at the door.

"You can't leave me behind!" Nigel protested.

Max considered. "On second thoughts, probably best Caroline isn't left alone with you."

Nigel's confidence returned. "Don't trust her with me, huh?" he said understandingly.

"That and this way I get a chance to push you under traffic."

Andrew looked from Max to Dave. "I told you Americans could be the most wonderful people on the planet," he reminded him.

They set off down the street, Nigel scrambling up the steps after him. The cold Brooklyn night slammed into him as he left the diner and stumbled for a moment. "Christ, it's freezing!" he squeaked miserably, then sprinted after the others.

-x-x-x-

Dave breathed deeply and tried to get his body temperature to equalize. He'd given up his beloved coat to Nigel on the grounds the cold was better than having him whine about it, and now they were moving through the streets towards where Caroline's girlfriend said they lived. It was dark between the streetlights and everything gleamed with what was either condensation or recent rainfall. Steam billowed from the gutters and manhole covers, as though the city was right on top of hell itself. The image seemed much more comforting in _Ninja Turtles_ cartoons, and certainly didn't stink quite so much.

Even if Dave had still cared about his life and limbs, it would have been hard to get worried. Both Andrew and the brunette were fearless and witty, exchanging jokes and one-liners even Nigel sometimes found funny. Andrew somehow had the ability to get on with everybody (bar Nigel, anyway) and Caroline's better half was no exception.

"No way!" she was laughing at Andrew's latest anecdote.

"I'm serious!" he insisted. "And so he comes back to base and the rest of the super heroes are all totally ignoring him, so he has this temper tantrum and shouts _'Hey, I just raped a dinosaur! What did any of you guys actually achieve today?'_"

"That's just demented," she said, shaking her head. "I have got to get a copy of that comic book."

"Oh, probably been burnt on bonfires by now," Andrew predicted. "The dinosaur sexual liberation front take crap from no one!"

"Hey, is it true Roland Glass died in front of your store?" asked Dave as the conversation lulled.

She nodded. "Yep. Right in front of the window, the first customer we had."

"What was he like?" asked Nigel. "In the brief period his heart was still beating, I mean?"

"Fine," she said with her wicked smile. "Super fine. I didn't recognize him, but if he'd lived another hour, I'd probably have taken him inside and done him on the counter."

Nigel pretended to be interested in a metal fence. "Called it," he said airily.

"You guys ever met anyone famous?" the brunette asked Dave and Andrew.

"Well, certainly not as famous as Martha Stewart," Dave replied, trying to sound like he knew who she was.

"How'd you know I've met Martha Stewart?" she asked, intrigued.

"Sign for Max's Homemade Cupcakes told us," Andrew shrugged. "But no, we're very Z-list in term of celebrities."

"They're just being bashful," Nigel told the brunette. "They know _me_ of course."

She looked at Nigel, then to the others, giving the impression she was about to run for it.

"I'm not _super-_famous, I concede," Nigel went on, "but I've been famous for fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, about seven years ago," Dave replied.

"Ah, but it still counts," Nigel said with relaxed triumph.

Dave sighed. "Guess so."

"What are you famous for?" Caroline's girlfriend challenged. "Most number of sexual harrassment cases in a day?"

"He won the _jakkatatve,_" Andrew sighed. "It's a sort of psychotically-dangerous reality gameshow..."

"Oh, yeah!" She smiled. "I've heard of that. It's like, banned everywhere but Cambodia, right?"

"Nope," said Nigel proudly. "They banned it last spring."

"Learn something new every day."

"I shot to fame and fortune," Nigel went on. "I was the big thing of 07."

"Like typhoid," Andrew agreed. "But he's fallen to the bottom of the scrapheap since then, haven't you, Nige?"

Nigel shrugged. "I no longer seek the limelight."

"Probably for the best," the brunette said. "High society'll stab you in the back. Just ask Caroline."

"Why?" asked Dave, non-plussed. "Is she famous?"

"Her dad is," the brunette explained. "She's Caroline Channing. _Martin_ Channing's daughter?"

Dave looked at Nigel, who in turn looked at Andrew, who shrugged. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

"The guy who defrauded New York in the biggest ponzy scheme of all time?" the brunette prompted.

"Oh yeah," Dave said, frowning. "Remember? The American Christopher Skase?"

Andrew nodded. "Yeah, but he didn't get to Majorca in time. He's in jail, isn't he?"

"Yeah," the brunette sighed. "Wish I could say he was innocent. But Caroline is, not that that stopped all her upper-class pals from ditching her like a hot brick in a leper colony. She's only waitressing because all the stuff she's good at involves financing, and no one in America would give her job around money. It sucks."

"Is that how you met?" asked Nigel. "Working as waitresses in cocktail bars?"

"Is that meant to be funny?" Andrew demanded.

"No," Nigel said cautiously.

"Congratulations, you succeeded," the brunette says. "But yeah that's how we met."

"No offense, but I guess you're _not_ a similar aristo-outcast?" Dave guessed. "Hard to think you have anything in common."

"Well, we share the same tastes."

"Oh?" Nigel's expression was positively filthy.

"Yeah, we kind of bonded over _Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance._"

Andrew's eyebrows rose. "By the Black Kids?" he checked.

"Yeah."

Dave looked at Nigel. "Called it," he said smugly.

"What? What are you boys calling?" the brunette demanded.

"Just that, you know, you two _bonded_... over a lesbian love song."

The brunette seemed taken aback. "You know, you read too much subtext into things. We're _not_ gay lovers."

"Also called it," Nigel. "Yes, this is the twenty-first century and everything changes - and so many people go bisexual."

"Well, not me and Caroline. She's at the bottom of my threesome list."

Andrew smiled. "But she's _still_ on the list?"

-x-x-x-

Max was slightly bewildered as she realized all three of the Australians were convinced she was a lesbian and specifically one engaged in hot girl-on-girl action with Caroline. She and Oleg had made a few jokes about it, but she never thought anyone would just leap to that conclusion upon seeing them. Dave seemed completely OK with the idea, as much as anyone would knowing they were just friends and Andrew seemed to find the whole thing romantic. Nigel was not quite holding back his drool. Was that what his apology before? Some kind of demented foreplay to seduce two gay girls? At least she could be certain he wasn't representative of any normal Australians, judging by his friends' various disgusted reactions.

Still, there was no denying Max was closer to Caroline than she'd been with almost all of her past lovers - only Deke and Johnny had ever come close. And she _did_ love Caroline, but she wasn't _in love_ with her. Was she? That was a question to be thrashed out another time, though, assuming she hadn't already worked out the answer on the wrong side of a pile of weed and vodka.

"Anyway, here we are," she said as they reached the stoop of the apartments. "I'm not going to invite you in, on the off-chance any of you are vampires plus I don't want to give Nigel the wrong idea I want him anywhere near my home."

Nigel didn't seem fussed. "It'd be awkward at your place, I get that," he said.

"Awkward?" Max snorted. "Listen, my best sex has been had in a dumpster."

Dave, bless him, looked like all the blood in his body had vanished. Andrew blinked, but didn't react.

"Like I said, Dave," Nigel said coolly. "You're overestimating her."

Max rolled her eyes and headed into the hallway, making sure she passed their apartment without even glancing at it. Hopefully they'd think she lived across the hall and found that creepy bondage couple who never answered the door without a gimp suit and referred to each other as "mummy" and "daddy" in a non-ironic manner. She turned left up the steps to the top floor, aware of the others following. Her vampire suspicions proved unfounded, so that was _'stake Nigel through the heart'_ brushed off the _To Do_ List.

"So, where do you guys live?" Max called over her shoulder as they reached the next level.

"Converted warehouse in the industrial sector," Andrew explained.

"It's a kind of witness protection safehouse," Dave added. "We get it pretty much rent free."

"Awesome," said Max, genuinely impressed. "You banging the landlord?"

"No, but not for want of trying," said Nigel with a bitter expression. "I'm convinced she's gay."

"Are there _any_ women you know you don't think are gay for not sleeping with you?" Max challenged.

Nigel gave his predatory smile. "More than you can possibly imagine," he said confidently.

Dave winced, almost involuntarily. Max noticed it, and suddenly realized that the girl who broke his heart must have been one of Nigel's unfortunate sex buddies. Max's own opinion of this girl dropped even further, and she wondered if Nigel knew or cared at how upset Dave was about the whole thing. _Ah,_ she cursed, _you're getting attached._

Max crossed to the door and banged on it. "Hey, Sophie! You up?" she yelled.

"Is that you, Max?" yelled the shrill Polish voice from behind the door.

Andrew rounded on her. "Max? _You're_ Max? The Max's Homemade Cupcakes Max?"

"So Max isn't a guy working there?" Nigel gasped. "This just gets better and better..."

Max realized she hadn't put her nametage on tonight. And none of them had called her by name.

"You're only working out what my name is _now?_" she exclaimed, incredulously. "Wow, this is a new record considering I'm not drunk and we haven't made out yet..." She looked to Nigel. "Also, not going to happen. Now, say hello to Sophie."

Obediently, the trio looked to the door as it opened.

"Well, hello boys!" Sophie drawled...


	10. Chapter 10

Max was fascinated by the sight of the three tourists' faces as they first caught a glimpse of her upstairs neighbour. Like puppets they reacted in perfect unison. Their expressions of polite interest, then their faces went blank as they tried to understand what they were seeing, then their eyes widening, jaws dropping then a valiant attempt to pull themselves together.

Andrew swallowed visibly. "Evening."

Dave looked as white as a sheet. "Hey."

Nigel reached up and aligned his sunglasses to gaze over them at Sophie. "Well, hullo," he purred.

It was fair to say that the three Australians hadn't seen someone like Sophie Kuczynksi before. For a start, she was big - not fat, though her tight silver-green dress was perhaps slightly too small for her Rubenesque curves, but seemed out of proportion with everything else. The doorway, the clothes, the building, it was like Gandalf in the Shire. None of the trio were tall enough to look Sophie in the eye without craning their necks, but while Dave and Andrew at least tried, Nigel gazed lustfully at the pillow-sized cleavage on display.

"Hey, Soph," said Max. "This is Andrew, Dave and Nigel, some Australians in town for the night."

"And you wanted a big sex party?" said Sophie, licking her golden lips.

"No, actually, we're press-ganging these fools into helping us at the shop."

"By bribing them with a big sex party?"

"Actually," said Dave, "we're just trying to be helpful."

"But if an orgy is on the offer," Nigel began, waggling his dyed eyebrows suggestively.

"Then we'd have to decline," Andrew cut across. "We're here for some giant cupcake outfits."

"And not for sex," Dave added. "Miss."

"Oh, please! Call me Sophie, little boy," she replied with a grin that was partly-reassuring but mainly predatory. "You know," she went on, stepping aside so they could enter the apartment, "it's good that you all came here tonight because they're still clean. I'm not sure that would be the truth tomorrow night. Some of the stains are getting too strong to be scrubbed away."

"Like the ones on my soul," Max agreed, entering the room.

"Nice swing," said Andrew politely, noticing a romantic-looking lilly-framed porch swing dominated the middle of the room.

"Thanks!" said Sophie brightly as she emerged from a bedroom carrying two warped and grubby bean-bag like shapes, one brown and the other off-white. "Here you go, boys. They're pretty dry and the fumes from the disinifectant aren't too toxic, but if you start finding streetlights singing to you, you might need a breather. I'll find the hats."

"There are hats, too?" Dave picked up one of the outfits and sniffed at it, but his nose refused to identify the smell as anything other than 'deeply, deeply wrong' and his head snapped back from an invisible blow. "Great. I like hats."

"Seriously," Max said, shaking her head, "were you Hitler in a past-life? Coz, you shouldn't need to be so desperate to make amends otherwise. You don't have to wear this."

Dave held the outfit up to the light, trying to work out how to put it on. "I made a promise," he shrugged. "It's one of the few things I can big up about myself is that I keep promises. Besides, I spent the first day of my life half-blind, covered in slime, screaming and crapping myself. This is way more dignified. Best go out on a high."

Max frowned. "How so?"

Dave glanced at her. "Just a figure of speech. Um, how do you put this on?" he asked bashfully.

-x-x-x-

By the swing, Andrew was puzzling over the darker outfit he'd been left to work with. "Looks like a bamboo framework with foam layers," he mused. "There must be some velcro strip or something..."

Nigel lazily draped himself on the swing. "Andrew, pop quiz - give me some tips on Poland."

"Poland?" Andrew repeated.

"Sensual Slavic Sophie over there," Nigel murmured. "I need an 'in'."

"She's probably got the usual access points, Nige, judging by that ridiculously tight skirt."

"Just give me the basics."

"Basics? I don't know anything about Poland!"

"You know all sorts of useless crap," Nigel protested, not without cause. "What about that stuff with Oleg the cook?"

"The Ukraine is interesting!" Andrew retorted. "It interests me. Why would I be interested in Poland?"

"I don't know!" Nigel snapped, trying to keep his voice level. "You must know something!"

"Polish people come from Poland and are often Jewish. The Nazis invaded it and started World War II."

Nigel couldn't believe it. "Is that it?" he demanded.

"It's all I've got," Andrew said, tugging the edge of the foam cupcake to expand the neck hole wide enough to step inside. "I mean, the national stereotype is them being damn smart and mysterious, except for the ones that end up working in restaurants and building sites. And while Germany invaded them in the 1940s, they kicked Germany's butt as well as Russia plenty more times."

"...anything else?" Nigel asked hopefully.

"They like saurkraut?"

"What's saurkraut?"

"Kind of like a kransky, only not." Andrew stepped into the cupcake and heaved it up onto his shoulders. "Oh, and the flag is like Japan's but without the circle. White over red. So, you got that in common with her."

"You are beyond useless, you know that?" Nigel retorted.

"Not according to the staff of Max's Homemade Cupcakes," Andrew retorted, wriggling his arms through the slots in the outfit. "The ones that despise you on sight?"

Andrew turned to cross to Dave, who had shed his coat and was now being helped into the cupcake by Max. "Pretty sure there's lead lined into these things," she was saying, "so you'll be safe as long as they don't aim for your face."

"Is that likely to happen?" asked Andrew.

Max shrugged. "Well, when you're accosted by giant confectionary at two in the morning, there's always a chance you might think it's just the shrooms talking or else you pull out your gun and blow them away."

"Do you have a gun?" asked Andrew sternly.

"No," Max said. "I'm packing enough heat in my underwear, I don't need any colt 45 that isn't in a bottle. Why? Don't you have guns in Australia?"

"Yeah," Dave said, muffled within the foam cupcake. "But mainly just farmers and police. There was thing called the Port Arthur Massacre and guns haven't been cool ever since."

"Wow," said Max with mild surprise. "Up here, we'd call that a Tuesday. Still, you got all those poisonous spiders and snakes to keep your numbers down, so nature finds a way."

"Have you ever been shot?" Andrew challenged her.

"As a matter of fact, no," Max replied with a shrug. "But a guy did try to hold up the diner once."

"What happened?" asked Nigel, joining them.

"Turned out he didn't have a gun. It was just his hand in his pocket." Max sighed. "Oh, the number of guys I could say that about that. Anyway, Caroline used me as a human shield."

"Wow," said Dave. "I thought you'd have done that for her."

"I would've," Max grumbled. "She didn't give me a chance. Still, karma got her - she still hasn't quite lived down wetting her pants in horror at the time."

"Ooh!" said Sophie excitedly, emerging from the bathroom. "Are we making more pee-jokes about Caroline again?"

"It's a survival characteristic," mused Andrew. "Marks the territory, decreases the body-weight and disgusts the attacker."

"It made her yellow in more ways than one, too!" Sophie cackled.

"All right," Nigel said, shaking his head. "Stop taking the piss out of Caroline. Oh no - too late!" he gasped and everyone laughed.

"Oh, Nige," Andrew sighed. "Has anyone ever told you how funny you are?"

"Many times."

"Then they were lying," said Max with a sweet smile. "Repeatedly."

"Me thinketh the lady doth protethteth _too_ mucheth," Nigel retorted.

Sophie frowned and peered down at him. "What's wrong with you? You have a stroke or something?" she asked, puzzled.

"Ooh, Nigel with permanent brain damage," Dave enthused. "A turn for the better."

"Shut up," snapped Nigel, more startled than offended.

"Put those on," said Max, handing over the hats to Andrew and Dave. They were hats in the shape of a bright red cherry and a glob of chocolate with hundreds and thousands. "Otherwise there's nothing to distract people from your faces and this whole witness protection thing will be a waste of time."

Dave considered his headgear and sighed. "If you say so, Max."

"Dude, seriously," said Max. "I feel like someone didn't get the memo from Abraham Lincoln, because you're _not_ a slave."

"Whereas _I_ am," crooned Nigel.

Max stared at him expressionlessly. "Seriously?"

"Well, to my lusts."

"And never a truer word spoken," said Andrew brightly. "Don't we have cupcakes to sell?"

"Yeah, Nige," agreed Dave from beneath his top-heavy hat. "Just assume women in America will find you as sexually unsatisfying as all the ones in Australia. It'll save time."

"Ooh, someone got pawned!" laughed Max and held up her hand to Dave.

He gave her a high-five and a smile. "The Black girl told me to stand up for civil rights," he said, and then began the complicated shuffle after Andrew through the doorway of Sophie's apartment.

Nigel glared murderously at Dave's back and then turned to Max. "I apologize for his uncouth behaviour," he said. "It's a shameful envy on his part down to his complete lack of success in all parts of life, his tiny genitalia and the fact he's still a virgin." He shrugged. "OK, this lesbian I know slept with him once out of morbid pity, but I prefer to think of that as daterape as he was paralytic throughout it all."

Max arched an eyebrow. "Wow, he converted a lesbian?" she asked. "That's seven years good luck. And while stupid drunk too. Thanks, Nige. Had no idea Dave was so awesome."

Nigel arched an eyebrow. "Does Caroline know how easily-pleased you are?"

"Would I have settled for her otherwise?" Max retorted and frowned. "Hang on, are we going into the whole 'Max and Caroline girl on girl action' again? Cause, if we do, we'll be here all night." She turned to Sophie. "See you at the shop, Sophie."

"Okay, Max," said Sophie, rummaging through her spice rack. "Bring back the costumes when you're ready, but if you're having sex all over the place, the white one is drip dry."

"Oh no," Max replied. "I still remember what happened to the Amish boys. But," she added thoughtfully, "if there's a convenient doorway, I know a way to cheer Dave up..."

"Slitting his wrists?" Nigel suggested cheerfully.

"Or slitting yours," she retorted. "Come on, Verkoff. You're a kitchen hand now, and if you thought your lusts were slave-drivers, you ain't been in a bakery."

Nigel grumbled to himself as he followed Max out of the flat. "Fantastic. I meet the only woman in Brooklyn emotionally-damaged enough to think Dave Restal is a more worthy shag than I am. Is there no justice in the world?"

Sophie looked up from her spice rack. "You still here?" she demanded round a mouth-full of brightly coloured pills.

Nigel glared at her, flicked his blond locks dismissively, and strode off.


	11. Chapter 11

"A major comet strike is overdue!" Andrew bellowed at the top of his rich, brown voice. "The sun is already half-way through its last aeon before it flash-fries the solar system! Antibiotic-resistant diseases are on the rise! The end is nigh!" He grinned at the mixture of annoyed and frightened commuters emerging from the subway station. "What more excuse do any of you need to enjoy one of _Max's Homemade Cupcakes_? Die with a smile on your faces and a belly full of sweet, delicious confectionary! Cheaper than heroine, quicker than prostitution and morally-uplifting to boot! Can one of you good people look me in the eye and say your lives will be the better for missing out on this?"

The giant cupcake was being ignored.

"Look at you, spinning through your empty lives, working all the hours god sends for people you despise doing work that contributes nothing to this world! What do any of you do to deserve your presence on this planet? Well you might ignore me, because the truth hurts does it not? But cupcakes take the pain away! A mere seven dollars and not only do you get delicious food, you also support struggling businesses from people who actually have something to offer this septic isle you call a superpower!"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU SHUT UP?!" screamed a very highly-strung Hispanic man with a leather jacket.

Andrew's hand lunged out and clamped around the commuter's throat. "You want silence? Visit a graveyard!" he roared at the unsuspecting American. "What have _you_ done to earn _my_ respect, pal? Saved any lives? Built any pyramids? You can't even spare some change for some sodding cake people slave over just to make your night that much more bearable! You want good karma, _damn well earn it!_"

He swung his head to face the rest of the crowd.

"And the same goes for the rest of you!" he bellowed. "Cause the sooner you realize that, the sooner you can drag this money-grubbing vomit-encrusted craphole out of the gutter! AM I MAKING MYSELF CLEAR?"

-x-x-x-

"So has Andrew had much sales experience?" asked Caroline as carefully manipulated the cappucino machine at an angle of forty-five degrees so her groin was nowhere near the steam nozzle.

"He works part time at _Toys'R'Us,_" Nigel replied, whisking some batter in a bowl. "As far as I can make out, the moment he doesn't turn up for duty, the sales go through the roof."

Max looked over from the sink where she was washing the cupcake trays. "Why do you hang with the others if you hate them so much?" she asked. "I mean, surely a feminist like you can find some kind-hearted girl to share a bed?"

"I guess I still haven't found what I'm looking for."

"What's that, Bono?" Caroline snorted. "A nympho running a brewery?"

"Hey, don't knock my dream, blondie!" Max huffed.

Nigel tapped the excess batter from the whisk. "I used to _be_ someone," he said bitterly. "I was famous for being famous. But the mob's a fickle thing. Next thing you know, I'm forgotten. Not just by TV and radio, by people I thought were my friends. Everyone got onto the lifeboat with me, and I had to go down on the _Titanic._"

"Die doing what you love, that's my motto," agreed Max, making Caroline smirk.

"I'm glad my suffering amuses you," Nigel sighed.

"Well," she shrugged, "it's already depressing you. It doesn't help _both_ of us getting miserable."

"Max," said Caroline reproachfully. "I know how it feels, Nigel. Society dropped me like a leprosy-infected iPhone after my dad was arrested. I probably would have died on the streets years ago if Max hadn't been there," she added, looking at the brunette with such affection Nigel was _genuinely_ confused how they could not be lovers. "That happen to you?"

"Dave's crazy idea," Nigel shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

"Jean-Paul Satre said hell is being trapped with your friends," Caroline pointed out.

"Is that why he became a fashion designer?" asked Max with a frown.

"Well," Nigel said, handing Max the bowl of mixture, "then I have been living in heaven for the last few years. You have any idea how it is to be unable to open your mouth without people mocking you, insulting you, finding the slightest excuse to make you feel like crap?"

Caroline blinked. "There are _other_ ways of talking to people?" she asked dryly.

"See, this is men all over," Max said. "They can't cope with pain, they can't deal with getting sick, and even normal conversation makes them all messed up! If _you_ got that fussed about me pointing out what an entilted, under-endowed and deluded dipstick you were," she nodded to Caroline, "you would have vaporized by now."

"But you don't mean it," Nigel pointed out. "You love her."

Caroline sighed. "For the seven hundred and thirtieth time, we're not lesbians!" she groaned.

"Am I wrong?" Nigel asked. "You _don't_ love each other?"

Max emptied cake mixture into the cleaned trays. "Well, duh! You don't have to be such a girl about it!"

"Well, Andrew and Dave don't love me," Nigel replied. "Or even _like_ me that much. In fact, it's pretty much day-in day-out abuse. If I had literally anywhere else to go, I would leave in an instant."

"You ever thought maybe being nice to them might help out?" Caroline suggested. "I dunno. Buy them something?"

"Is that how you won over Max?" asked Nigel.

"Sure as hell didn't hurt," the girl in question replied. "Maybe show you care about them."

"They'd just call me gay and assume I'm trying to bribe them."

"You think they'd be wrong about fifty per cent of that?" Max replied. "Go mop the floor up, superstar."

Nigel sighed and went to the supply cupboard. Caroline watched him go, feeling more sympathy for him. "There must be something about them you like," she said, checking the window panes were secured open. "Something you admire."

"I enjoy it when they're not here," Nigel replied, sweeping up the flour. "You know they bet me I couldn't have sex with the pair of you."

Max sniggered. "Wow, if Caroline here didn't have a gambling issue, we'd have made a fortune off you."

Caroline tutted. "See, Nigel, I think you're making up stories again."

"Why would I do that?" asked Nigel.

"You're trying to get into our pants," Max replied. "And better men than you have succeeded."

Nigel scowled. "At least I'm honest about it."

"Well, they can't take that away from you," said a voice from the window. It was Dave. He looked to the girls. "I met a few people who all promised to come back for cupcakes when they had money. And, no, I didn't believe them either."

"Hey, there are wierdoes out there," Max consoled him. "Not even your cute face can turn them."

"Oh, please," Nigel claimed. "Stop encouraging him! This is enabling behaviour!"

"Enabling _what?_" Dave retorted. "Incest? How is Benny nowadays?"

Max and Caroline exchanged glances. "What?" they both asked in unison.

"Bernice, his sister," Dave explained. "We call her Benny. Nigel's been trying to bang her since he was like, eight!"

Nigel took a deep breath. "My _adopted_ sister and I shared a mutual attraction," he said haughtily. "And one we both took a decision not to act upon, because _unlike_ Dave we're not a sub-human golem of used kebab wrappers somehow acquiring the power of speech!" His voice rising to a snarl, Nigel threw down the broom and stormed out of the kitchen, through the side door and out of the shop.

Dave, moving down the street to meet him, was taken by surprise as Nigel grabbed his foam-coated cupcake torso and swung him heavily into the cold brick wall. "Dave," he said through a fixed grin, "are you deliberately trying to ruin this for me?"

"Yes, I am as a matter of fact!" Dave hissed back at him.

Nigel looked at him in genuine surprise. "What? Well, why the hell are you doing that for?"

"Max loves Caroline," Dave told him angrily.

"Oh, the purely platonic ideal!"

"Like you care! They could be married and you'd still be trying to ruin it!" Dave snarled. "Wham, bam, screw you all ma'am! You don't get that those girls would be happier without you trying to penetrate any and every orifice you can get your hands on!"

"Yeah, that's what grown ups do, David, it is called 'consensual intercourse'."

"It's called you being a jerk. Name one girl who's been happier after you've shagged her!"

"All of them!"

"They never stuck round, did they, though? The moment school was done you might as well have been buried in cement for all the action you've got! No one ever calls back, no one ever wants you around, there's probably self-help groups formed from the women you've been with!"

"Oh, self-help groups? Like those you're too chicken to go to, Mr. Anxiety Dissorder?"

"Oh, the one you recommended that was a fundamentalist Christian faith group?"

"Religion isn't to blame for you bolting the first session, Dave!"

"No, but finding you're holding hands with knife-wielding child-throttlers who don't take their anti-psychotic meds because they have the power of the Lord _is_ a good reason if you ask me."

"No one did, Dave. No one cares about your two-fifths of an opinion! Never have, never will!"

Dave's eyes widen. "Oh, you want to do this, do you?" he challenged. "I was there at the start with you, Nigella! I know the crap you _didn't_ put in your official biography, especially the time you woke up in bed with a sheep after the HSC results came out!"

"You couldn't get a sheep to give a damn about you, Dave! You're a purposeless waste of junk DNA, a weed in your own family tree who have been _so_ concerned about you since you left home, haven't they? Oh, wait, they haven't."

"At least _my_ parents didn't dump me on a doorstep when I was two days old!"

"Oh, Davey boy, they tried so much it was a Greek freaking tragedy! And where did this backbone of yours come from all of a sudden?" Nigel demanded. "You looking to get Max and Caroline to adopt you, maybe? Be their little pet and dance for change outside their cupcake shop? They don't know you like I do. If they did, they'd kill you out of mercy."

Dave licked his dry lips. "At least they'd have to get to know me - you got on Max's hate-list before you met her!"

"At least I'm honest about what I am."

"A filthy man-whore with no job, prospects, friends or cultural identity?" Dave suggested.

Nigel's hands lashed out, wrapped themselves around the lapels of Dave's coat and heaved them forwards, wrenching Dave towards him. "This is _truly_ fascinating, David!" he spat. "It's like pond scum taking the moral highground over Nelson Mandela!"

"Nelson Mandela was a good man," Dave told him flatly. "What have you ever done to help people?"

Nigel stared at him. "_Phoebe_ didn't have any complaints," he said softly.

Dave's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. "She... you can't..." he mumbled thickly.

"What's that, Dave? I think it's reality smacking you down like the bitch you are, isn't it?"

"Er, am I interrupting something?" asked a voice from the other side of the apartment.

Nigel and Dave turned to see Max standing by the door to the shop.

"Cause if you two are going to start making out, all I ask is a chance to get a good close-up view. And possibly some tissues."

Nigel released Dave, who slumpedf back against the wall. "Max!" he said brightly. "Dave was just getting a bit hysterical. He does that a bit."

Max looked at Dave, concerned. "You OK?"

Dave might have nodded. He seemed more focussed on trying to breathe.

"See, Max," Nigel continued in his best raconteur voice, "Dave's not a very happy person. I reckon it's down to the fact the only girl he ever loved ditched him the first chance she could get. Did he tell you that?"

Max folded her eyes, not enjoying Nigel's bullying manner. "As a matter of fact, he did..."

"Her name was Phoebe Richards," Nigel explained. "She was a beautiful girl - hell, probably still is. Right out of Bottocelli's wet dreams, all bright red hair and smooth milk-white skin. Dave knew her all his life. They were best of friends, easily as close as you and Caroline. But as Phoebe grew up, Dave here tried to be all nice and gentlemanly and look after her. Oh, she hated it, Max. Imagine being stalked by a hipster you don't have the heart to tell to sod off and die. The things she did to discourage him! She actually bonked the first guy she could find to put him off - a Ronald McDonald performer, actually - but he still didn't get the message, so she chose to throw away her future and become a teen mum before she was seventeen. Hey, Dave, bet that took a lot of fine service from McDonalds, huh?" He laughed unpleasantly. "But sweet, naive, oh-so-deluded Dave stuck by her in the vain hope she'd still love him. Eventually, she just fled the country and went into hiding and refused to talk to him again. But _not,_" Nigel added with a sharklike smile, "before she let me bump uglies with her."

Dave closed his mouth. The slight clench of the jaw was the only visible sign of the stress.

"Stop this, you jerk!" Max said, taken aback.

Nigel scoffed, turning to face Dave once more. "Yeah, I'm not telling any lies am I, Dave? Phoebe outright despised me, but she would rather get all wet and sweaty with me that let one skin cell of you touch her. Plus, she was eight months pregnant at the time." He glanced at Max. "Whoo, seriously, moms-to-be _redefine_ the term 'horny'." He turned back to Dave. "And you would not believe how happy I made her, Dave. The things we did, the things she said in the heat of the afterglow. You think _I've_ been nasty to you, Dave? The things she said about you! Oh, even I felt sorry for you - for a while."

Nigel turned back to Max. "See, Max. Just knowing this guy is like paddling in toxic waste. Seriously though, we should send Dave on his way. After he caught me doing the reverse cowgirl with Phoebe, he's probably delicate about watching me bang the girls of his dream."

"You couldn't bang a girl if your penis was made of dynamite," sneered Caroline, framed in the doorway. "And we'd like you to go."

"You heard the girl, Dave. She don't want your kind around and we both know you don't blame her!" Nigel said cheerfully before turning back to ther girls. "You know, after finding out I was giving Phe multiple orgasms, he went up on the high school roof and pretended he was going to throw himself off? He thought it might make Phe come running back to him!" His smile vanished. "It didn't."

Caroline stepped forward, her face white with rage. "I want you gone!" she snarled. "To think I felt sorry for you! The others must be damn saints to put up with you!"

"You know, Nigel, I'm going to have to re-evaluate my whole life now I've met you," Max agreed. "Hipsters are no longer the lowest form of life."

"No, _Dave_ is!" Nigel said brightly. "See ya round, Dave. Almost as round as Pheobe was at the time!"

"**GET LOST!**" Max roared, throwing him into the street.

"Lies don't hurt, Max," said Nigel firmly. "The truth does."

With that, he turned and left.

-x-x-x-

Dave was inside the shop. Caroline and Max had brought him inside and helped him out of his costume, unsure of what else to do. He barely seemed to notice them, and Caroline wondered if he'd finally broken. "You know, I used to think I had the most dysfunctional life in the world till I met you guys," said Max said. "Guess someone's getting evicted when you get back to Oz."

Dave's voice was unsteady. "He was just being himself. Phe wanted him. Not his fault. And if he made her happy, good for him." He slowly got to his feet. "She always said we were just going in two separate directions. Maybe she was just lying and hated me the whole time. Maybe she was right to."

"No," said Max. "She wasn't. You gotta stop believing this crap. People we loved treated us like horse manure..."

"A subject about which we know quite a lot," said Caroline, nodding.

"But we _never_ let that convince us we weres anything less than awesome," Max told him. "Don't let them do this to you."

Dave smiled sadly. "That boat sailed a while ago," he sighed. "But, like Caroline said, you don't care."

"No one tells me what I care about, except me," Max told him.

"And possibly google alerts," Caroline added.

"It's OK," Dave said. "I'm a screw-up. I'm aware of this. I'm not going to turn all stalkery, and you won't see me again after tonight. But I promised to be a giant cupcake for you, and if nothing else I keep my promises."

"You kept your promise," Caroline said. "You just, you know, sit there and calm down."

"Can't even do that, then," Dave sighed, gazing down at his shoelaces in despair.

"Maybe you should, I dunno, talk to someone," Max suggested.

Dave laughed, not quite hiding the unshed tears. "Who'd _want_ to listen to me? My guidance counselor told me I was a whining crybaby and to get out of her office before I stunk the place up with self-pitying failure."

"Wow, _my_ guidance counselor just locked the door and said he wanted me to be his special little friend."

Dave gazed at her. "I wish you didn't have to joke about that," he said quietly. "You're a braver man than I, Max Black."

"Indeed I am awesome."

"You sure you're all right?" asked Caroline.

Dave smiled, seemingly completely composed once more. "I'll be fine in the long run."

"Except, in the long run, everyone's dead," boomed Andrew as he approached the window.

"So what's the problem?" Dave asked incredulously. "Come on. We got cupcakes to sell."

"No need!" Andrew grinned. He held out his hat, now upside down to act as a bag full of loose change. "I seemed to have made a small fortune down by the subway plaza! Night-workers are very easily-frightened, have you noticed that?"

Caroline took the hat. It wasn't a small fortune, but there was at least thirty dollars there and every penny was welcome. "They didn't want to come here and get a cupcake?"

"No," Andrew admitted gloomily. "But they felt _very_ bad about that and offered this money in recompense."

"That's crazy," said Max. "Crazy _amazing!_ You're like a cross between a street performer and a mugger! Santa Claus and Snoop Dog rolled into one!"

"You mugged people?" Caroline exclaimed.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Dave agreed.

"But then we'll get sued!" Caroline gasped. "This is like the puppet all over again! _Max's Homemade Cupcakes_ uses violence and intimidation to make ends meet! We need to totally dissassociate from this!"

"Caroline," Max reminded her, a hand indicating Andrew, "these people got freaked out by a giant cupcake at 2 a.m. Everyone'll just assume it's the meth talking, am I right?"

Andrew scratched his head. "Hopefully. Perhaps I'd be better in the kitchen and Nigel tries soliciting... where _is_ Nigel, anyway?"

-x-x-x-

Sophie was about to head out to get her complimentary free cupcakes from the shop when there was a polite knock at her door. Confused, she went to answer it. Oleg had phoned, saying he wouldn't be over as he had to go online and pledge his support to the Ukranian revolution and also order more cabbage for the diner. So if it wasn't him, who could it be?

It was the cute brown-skinned Australian, who was posed in the doorway, grinning a mint-white toothy grin.

"Sophie!" he beamed. "Just needed to know something. Do you have any Indigenous Australian in you?"

Sophie looked him up and down. "No, but I'd _like_ some!" she declared, grabbing his shirt and dragging him into her apartment.


	12. Chapter 12

"Can't you see how stupid you're being?" demanded Andrew.

"No! You know what your problem is? You're an idiot!" Dave shouted up at him.

"An idiot would refuse to accept the facts!" Andrew bellowed back.

"Facts! You know nothing about facts! You're an empty-headed animal who's poisoned my life from the moment we first met and frankly if you were gang-raped to death by centaurs like that bitch professor in the _Harry Potter_ books it would be too little, too late!"

Andrew grapped Dave's lapels and drew him closer. "Say that again and see if your teeth survive the process!"

"Someone get this maniac off me!" Dave screamed.

"Grapefruit juice stops you getting fat!"

"You see, he's crazy!"

"It's true for the love of Led Zeppelin! Ruby grapefruit juice has a unique affect on the kidneys and liver, it puts the entire endocrine and digestive system on overdrive. The food's in and out of you so fast it doesn't have time for all the fatty acids to be absorbed - it's chemically impossible to gain weight while drinking it."

"What," scoffed Dave, "even deep-fried Mars Bars?"

Andrew released his friend, beaming happily. "I know! The potential market in Scotland alone is simply staggering!" he proclaimed.

Dave shook his head. "Bullshit!"

"It's true!"

"Then why isn't anyone selling fast food with grapefruit juice then?"

"They _are,_ you microcephallic apostate!"

Dave frowned. "What's a 'microscope apostrophe'?"

Andrew ignored the question and flung an arm out, one accusing finger in the direction of the side street opposite the subway station. "Around the corner! That cake shop, _Max's Homemade Cupcakes_ I think, it come with complimentary grapefruit juice!"

"Oh, you're making this up!" Dave called.

"Me? How dare you, sah!"

Dave turned to address the building crowd of late-night/early-morning commuters desperate to get past the quarreling pair. "No one here believes there is a shop of delicious cupcakes round the corner that you can eat without gaining weight!"

"Then everyone here is stupid!"

Dave looked at the commuters. "You hear that? He's calling you stupid!"

"If they're going to miss a chance like this, they deserve to be called stupid. AND WORSE!" Andrew bellowed at a rather-startled looking young man in overalls. "There are cupcakes there waiting to be eaten by the tonne with no addition to your waist-line."

"Is that a metric tonne or an imperial one?" Dave challenged.

Andrew considered for a moment. "Both!" he concluded.

"You bloody-liar!" Dave accused. "Prove it!"

Andrew wrapped one meaty arm around Dave's shoulders, grabbing him in a headlock and hauling him from the subway entrance. "Oh, I'll prove it all right! We'll see who's laughing then, won't we? Hah-bloody-hah!"

The pair turned the corner and shrunk back into a shadowed doorway beneath a wrought-iron fire-escape and almost entirely hidden from the coiling plumes of steam from the sewer grates. Several of the commuters made their way past, and several more changed direction so they went in the direction of the infamous cupcake store.

From the doorway, Andrew and Dave watched them go.

Andrew glanced at Dave. "I think it's working," he said in a sing-song voice.

Dave rubbed his sore neck. "Otherwise you've publically humiliated me and beat me up for absolutely no reason," he grumbled.

"As if I'd do that," Andrew said, hurt.

Dave stared at him.

"..._again,_" Andrew added, clearing his throat with an embarrassed cough.

-x-x-x-

With a brittle snap of green plastic, Caroline removed the top from the miniature juice bottle that was only slightly larger than her hand. "I think there might be a missprint," she said to Max as she emptied the contents into a row of transparent plastic cups. "I think they meant 'baby' rather than 'ruby'..."

Max wrinkled her nose as she peered down at the tray of refreshments. "I know, right? It looks like a load of urine samples from people who haven't quite stopped peeing blood yet. This stuff really makes you lose weight?"

Caroline cracked open another bottle of red grapefruit juice and poured it out. "It's what Andrew said," she shrugged. "And it says there's no sugar or concentrate, so it can't be bad for you. At worst it'll do nothing."

"We can't just trust random hairy men to tell the truth!" Max protested. "They're always making stuff up. Oh, grapefruit juice makes you thin! Push buttons on the street crossings aren't wired up! The rhythm method prevents pregnancy! You know who told me that?"

"Some rhythm and blues guitarist?"

There was a pause.

"OK, lucky guess." Max picked up one of the cups. "And this cupcake shop isn't like the diner. We've got standards here. I don't sell anything to the public I wouldn't be willing to eat myself."

"So far, no problems," observed Caroline.

Max swigged back some of the pinky-yellow mixture and convulsed and wretched. "Oh god!" she croaked hoarsely. "It somehow tastes worse than it looks!"

"We're not still talking about the guitarist, are we?" Caroline asked, picking up a cup for herself. "It's just fruit juice, Max, one of the healthiest things someone can drink." She took a measured sip. "It's natural and organic and _oh my god Max I think my digestive tract put a contract out on the rest of me!_" She groaned and wretched. "My whole mouth just curled up and died! This is evil! Pure evil! The enema of a thousand Justin Biebers!"

Max was taking deep, moaning breaths. "No wonder this crap is so cheap!" she sobbed and then grabbed one of the cupcakes and all but shoved it into her mouth. She chewed for a moment and she relaxed slightly. "Hey, cupcakes take the pain away. That should totally be our new slogan," she mumbled around a mouthful of cake.

"Take away the sinful taste!" howled Caroline, devouring one for herself. "Actually, it does make the cupcakes taste even nicer," she admitted after a moment. "Even! I said _even_ nicer!" she insisted as she sensed Max glaring at her.

"Kinda crazy huh?" the brunette reflected. "I guess after some of that combined all-natural pesticide and toilet cleaner, the taste of everything becomes automatically awesome."

Caroline cautiously took a sip, gagged, and then muched the rest of the cupcake. "Yeah," she gulped breathlessly. "If you get into a rhythm, it kind of works."

"No, no, it doesn't!" Max warned. "I've got receipts from the family planning clinic to prove it! Oh, wait, yeah. Grapefruit and cupcakes."

"Plus, it means you'd be losing all the weight you'd gain from eating the cupcakes," Caroline agreed. "All the cupcakes you can eat and you don't get any fatter!"

Max nodded, eyes wide with excitement. "This could be the biggest discovery since penicillin... or even the cronut!"

"We don't mention cronuts in here any more," Caroline reminded her. "Once they stop appearing in the plots of _Glee_ episodes then we just assume they are no longer fashionable. Speaking of unrealistic teenage angst, how do you think Dave is?"

"I think he's not our problem," Max replied, showing a bit too much dedication to pouring more cups of grapefruit juice. "We have plenty of those, and if we can't sort out Oleg, Sophie, Han or any of our exes, we're not going to have any luck with a complete stranger."

"Who's deepest, darkest shame was revealed in front us?" Caroline asked dubiously.

"Hey, we've both lived through worse," Max replied.

"Uh, Max, I think I missed the bits where our pregnant lovers screwwed a guy we hated to stop us stalking her."

"Caroline, the night is young," Max pointed out with a smile that faded. "You really think he needs help? I mean, it's not like Nigel said anything to him he didn't know."

"Yeah," her friend agreed, unconvinced. "And, after all, if he wanted help, he could ask."

"Apart from, you know, him being a ridiculously shy guy with self-esteem even lower than my own," Max nodded. "But we have problems enough of our own - like what to do with this toxic waste if none of the customers want to risk swallowing it?"

"Hey," Caroline pointed out, "eating and drinking anything on offer has got you this far in life. You ain't turning back now!"

Max laughed and finished off the last bit of her cupcake.

-x-x-x-

Andrew and Dave were following the crocodile of customers who had formed a rough queue outside _Max's Homemade Cupcakes._ The one at the front of the line was doubled over in disgust from drinking the grapefruit juice. "No, it's supposed to taste like that," Caroline was saying while Max filmed the unfortunate man with her phone. "See, have a bite of the cupcake now, it'll taste much better..."

"Well," Dave reflected, "that's a novel way to market it."

"You see, Dave!" Andrew grinned. "My cunning plan works!"

"In a completely different way to how it's intended."

"It's not the journey that counts, Dave, it's the destination."

"Isn't that back to front?"

Andrew shrugged. "All right, it's a return journey."

They pushed through the metal door to the kitchen of the diner outside the cupcake shop. Dave's teeth were chattering slightly as he reached a relatively warm and dry atmosphere. Andrew didn't seem to have noticed the cold and damp, as that mental memo was in a huge pile in some psychic "in" tray.

"Of course, it's not unheard of," Andrew was saying. "Bringing out the flavours of food by doing something disgusting beforehand."

"I want to make a McDonald's joke here, because otherwise it's going to get nasty."

"Heston Blumenthal!"

"Bless you."

They entered the cupcake shop as the girls served the customers. With the first man having accepted the strange combinations of food, they were all ready to part with cash for fruit juice and cupcakes. Andrew and Dave kept to the rear of the shop, out of the way.

"No, Heston Blumenthal's a famous English chef."

"I've never heard of him." Dave blinked. "Wait, is he the guy who..."

Andrew nodded, grinning.

"No way. The guy who sucks a _tampon_ before eating anything?"

"Yes, he says the sanitary pad removes all moisture and flavor from his mouth, resetting his taste buds."

"Sounds like an excuse he came up with off the top of his head when someone caught him doing that," Max observed. "Yeah, I'm not wierd! This is for _improving_ the enjoyment of food. I bet the leather restraints, whips and inflatable sex dolls also really bring out the salty goodness of the main course."

Dave shook his head in admiration. "Face it, Andrew. This is one person never going to be impressed by your whacky stories."

"Who says I want to _impress_ anyone?" asked Andrew scandalized.

"Yeah," Max agreed, pouring some more grapefruit juice. "He's not even got maxipads on him when trying proper Ukranian food. The guy just doesn't care."

"Darn tooting!" boomed Andrew, his Irish lilt making the words sound strange and alien.

"You still going back to Sydney tomorrow?" asked Dave, sounding casual.

Andrew frowned. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"I thought I might hang around here for a day or two."

"Why? You don't have any money or friends here."

Dave tried to keep light. "I don't have any money or friends back home either," he chuckled, looking at the ingredients of a bag of self-raising flour.

"But this place is full of Americans!" Andrew protested. "Dave, don't judge a whole race of people because we've met two incredibly attractive and exciting young women. They're not all like that, you know!"

"Just thought you and Nige might go on ahead, that's all," said Dave. "I can catch another flight down."

Andrew took the bag of flour from Dave and began to scrutinize it. "Really? You and Nigel having a lover's tiff, are you?"

Dave avoiding looking at Andrew, and found himself looking straight at Max's dark whisky-coloured eyes. "It was nothing, right?" he asked hopefully. "Yeah, you know Nige. He'd have a fight with an air conditioning unit in an empty room!"

"Probably lose to it as well," Andrew agreed, dropping the bag on the bench. "I still didn't hear where he went?"

"Nope, but it's probably somewhere we don't care about," said Caroline in passing as she went to collect a fresh plate of cupcakes.

"Isn't this the bit where you urge me to go and find him so we can all be friends?" Andrew asked Dave with a knowing look.

"Bit beyond that."

"What? Worse than that time I told that physiotherapist that he had a nasty yeast infection, so she dumped him and _then_ he tried to kill me with a table leg, only to concuss himself, believe he'd died and gone to hell and wander around dazed before falling down a hill and getting imbedded half-way through a wall?"

"...more or less."

Andrew's cheer faded slightly. "What did he say?"

"Just stuff you already know about, Drew," Dave replied uncomfortably.

"Oh! You mean-"

"Yes."

"And the time-"

"Exactly."

"When you and-"

"Enough!" Dave hissed, leaving Max unsure if Andrew was guessing the right things.

"You heard the man," Caroline was saying to a hens' party who were now so drunk and wired none of them were still sure who the bride was meant to be. "We're out of both grapefruit juice and cupcakes. We've still got some frosty fries, but that's all."

The lead woman narrowed her eyes in concentration then slowly swung through 45 degrees to collapse to the pavement. The woman behind her fumbled with some bills. "Some fries please. And maybe an ambulance. Do ambulances have stomach pumps?"

"No," Max shrugged. "But if you get to the oxygen masks it totally makes up for it!"

Caroline handed over a plastic carton of frosting and fries. "She's going to be all right, huh?" she asked hopefully.

"Better be," belched another of the hens' party. "Going down the aisle in six hours..."

"Good luck with that," Max called. "I've never gone down after a stomach pump, myself."

"Wow, today truly is a day of firsts," Caroline teased as she closed the windows to the shop and rang up the till. "$827! That means we've sold over a hundred cupcakes in just two hours!" She turned to Andrew and Dave. "I wish we could have you guys around all the time, but we'd probably have to pay you and we can't even break even at the best of times."

"No worries," said Dave with a smile. "We were happy to help."

"Indeed!" said Andrew, crossing over to Caroline and shaking her hand. "It's been a most interesting evening, and you and your sweetheart Max have been great company!"

"Oh, Max and I aren't..."

"Just go with it," Max sighed. "It takes too long to correct people."

"Anyway, I best head off and find Nigel before he does something stupid. Well, more stupid than normal. He's probably trying to prize open a manhole cover looking to find the lair of the Ninja Turtles."

"Wow," said Max dryly. "He could drown in human waste."

"And they say karma never happens," agreed Caroline.

"Oh, don't take it to heart," Andrew said as he went for the exit.

Caroline opened her mouth to explain it was Nigel's treatment of Dave, not the girls themselves, that had upset her, but Max shot her a warning look.

"Yeah, he tends to lash out when girls turn him down," agreed Dave hastily.

Andrew stepped out into the stret. "No idea why - you think he'd have had more than enough practice by now!"

-x-x-x-

Nigel wasn't sure if he was laughing or moaning with relief as he lay on his back in the sweat-soaked linen of Sophie's bed. Somehow his sunglasses had remained on his face throughout the intense burst of love-making, but he was too exhausted and tingly to bother righting them. His head was throbbing and at the back of his mind a 70s rocker in an eyepatch was grooving about love being the drug he required another fix of as he staked his claim in the single bar.

"Oh god," he gasped to the goddess beside him. "This is paradise..."

"Jeez, you Aborigines are always fishing for compliments," drawled Sophie.

Nigel found the energy to prop his head up on one arm. "I keep telling you, I'm _Japanese._ Do people constantly expect _you_ to live up to cultural stereotypes?"

Sophie stared at him for a long moment. "I'm sorry, I can't answer the question because it was too boring to listen all the way through. Hey, want some more sex?"

Nigel fell back on the pillow, light-headed and reeling. "Yeah, okay," he sighed dismissively. "Oh man, I swear if I survive tonight I am so moving to Poland. I mean, if it's good enough for Peter Davison, it's good enough for me..."

"Anyone ever told you," Sophie said as she straddled him, "you talk too much?"

"No, why do you ask?" Nigel frowned.

Sophie shrugged her fleshy shoulders. "No reason."

-x-x-x-

Dave stepped out into the street for what he presumed to be the last time. There didn't seem to be anyone about and even some of the nearby shops were closed for the night. Dave wasn't sure if Brooklyn counted as New York, but they said New York was the city that never slept. Right now it was definitely entering a cat nap.

He tugged his coat tighter, humming one of Roland's jolly pirate ballad under his breath. The lyrics were a bit foggy but he attempted them with suitable gusto.

"_Hey, you're banjaxed! Hey, you're screwed!_  
_And death is coming for you!_  
_Trapped by fate and certainty!_  
_No way out that I can see!_"

Amazing how air-punchingly awesome and heart-lightening the bitter lyrics were, given the right tune. A song insisting life was over but the music made you want to raid a sailing ship and get into a sword fight with frogs and lobsters. Well, not actual frogs and lobsters, but the names of the English Navy during the Napoleonic Wars...

"_Hey, you're banjaxed! Hey, you're screwed!_  
_And death is coming for you!_  
_Best give in to futility!_  
_Oblivion ends all misery!_"

Yeah. He really should be getting on with killing himself. Dave thumbed the mobile in his coat pocket. Maybe leaving a suicide note was selfish after all? He wasn't out to guilt-trip anyone, after all. Perhaps it would be better for him to just disappear, like Hannibal Lector at the end of _Silence of the Lambs._ Only with less cannibalism, naturally. Or like Bruce Wayne, ending his old life and beginning a new one. Mind you, Bruce Wayne had left Alfred the butler in tears, something Dave strongly disapproved of.

No, just disappear into the night. Always leave them wanting more.

"Hey, Dave, where are you off to?" he heard Caroline ask.

Dave turn and saw she was closing up the doorway, dressed in a nice brown leather fur-lined jacket that somehow went with all her pearl necklaces. Max was in her appropriate shade, hands in pockets and looking like a surly bodyguard to Caroline's fashionable princess.

"I was, I dunno, going to wait around for Andrew to come back," Dave suggested.

"You sure you want to hang out in a back alley at this time of night?" Caroline asked.

"No, but I don't know where else to go."

Max rolled her eyes. "OK. I've taken in Martin Channing's daughter, a horse and a stray cat. I suppose I can spare a bit of the couch for you."

"It's just till morning," Caroline told her, holding out a palm in a gesture that she clearly used a lot to calm her friend. "Sides, we don't want him getting lonely."

"If this ends up in a threesome," Max replied, "I am selfish and not afraid to admit it."

Dave scratched the back of his neck. "Look, I don't want to be trouble..."

"God dam," Max fumed. "There you go again! Stop being such a doormat!"

"Sorry," Dave sighed. "My ego gave up on me a while ago."

"This Phoebe chick, huh?" said Caroline understandingly.

"She's a good person," Dave said. "You'd like her."

Max shook her head. "Sounds like she treated you like nine different kinds of crap out of sheer sadistic pleasure - which, of course, I think a totally awesome way to approach life. But, seriously, don't be a victim. At least think she's wrong for treating you like that!"

Dave blinked owlishly. "Have you ever been in love?"

Max was quiet for a moment. "Yep. Well, maybe lust-with-benefits."

"Look, let's just go home," said Caroline. "You've been a real help tonight, Dave. Han told us about you putting in the good word. Least we can do is put a roof over your head until it's time for you to head back to the airport, right?"

Dave considered. "Do you, uh, have a map of the city at your place?"

"Yeah we do!" Max said brightly. "But we Yanks call it Google Maps, my Antipodean friend."

"OK," Dave laughed. "I need to look something up before heading off."

"What about the others?" asked Caroline as the three of them set off.

"They're big enough to look after themselves," Max agreed.

Somehow, he'd ended up with one of the girls on either arm.

_End your life on a high, Dave,_ he told himself. _Coz it sure ain't getting better than this._

"_Hey, you're banjaxed! Hey, you're screwed_  
_And death is coming for you!_  
_At least you'll soon cease to be_  
_Coz suicide is your destinty!_"


	13. Chapter 13

Dave looked around the flat Max and Caroline shined. There seemed to be too much to look at; the grey-green walls were covered in posters, drawings, paintings and artworks. Opposite the front door was another door nailed to the wall and being used as a hatrack. It looked as though someone had emptied the contents of a Salvation Army depot and then arranged it in a sensible, sophisticated manner. The artwork, the wooden action figure you posed for drawing people, the pencils and sketches suggested one of them was an artist. Probably Max.

Caroline was perched on a bright red sofa in the middle of the room, while Max was crossing one of the various floor rugs that led through a doorway. Dave made a judgment call and decided not to follow her, instead focussing his attention on the other side of the main living area which was a kitchen/cooking area. It occured to him that there wasn't a TV or DVD player and he felt a pang as he realized the poor girls probably hadn't enough money for it, and probably not enough free time to watch it otherwise.

And then he noticed that there was only one bedroom and only one bed, and mused that the girls probably had other ways to occupy themselves when not at work. Definitely lovers. In fact, they seemed to be closer than Dave's brother and his boyfriend, given they weren't out and proud. _Oh well,_ he thought. _They're happy. Lucky them._

Something cool, moist and triangular brushed against his hand.

Dave froze, carefully looking down. In a split second he'd suddenly remembered that New York was famous for its rat problem and rats were quite capable of eating human beings alive after their vicious fangs spread evil, incurable bubonic death...

...and then he realized it was just a marmalade-coloured tabby cat nuzzling his hip, and felt rather foolish.

Dave automatically patted the cat, scratching it between its ears and letting out a trilling purr noise which the cat responded in kind. It was slender and delicately built, suggesting it was female. "Hey girl," he murmured as the cat rubbed the side of her head against his wrist, eyes closed in enjoyment. "Hello..."

"Nancy likes you, you must be good," Max observed, emerging from the bedroom. "You've obviously got the gift for redheads. Which I now realize was probably the nastiest thing I could say to you right now," she continued with no variation in her tone. "So... look, a horse!"

Max shoved open one of the windows and indicated outside. Dave blinked in amazement as his eyes informed him that Max was completely accurate. There was some kind covered yard beyond the windows and trotting outside was a chestnut-coloured horse with a dark brown mane, flicking its tail and clearly interested in Max's presence.

"A horse," Dave agreed.

"Of course!" Max agreed with her bright red lips smiling.

"Oh, Dave," said Caroline as if introducing friends at a dinner party, "this is Chestnut, my thoroughbred. Chestnut, this is Dave."

The horse snorted, clearly not as impressed by Dave as Nancy the cat.

"So, the smell of horse doo-doo isn't entirely your imagination," Max grinned. "Why, do Australians not have studs in their backyards?"

"No. Nor do we have kangaroos."

"How about koalas?"

"Nope."

"Emus?"

Dave shook his head.

"Wombats?"

"We get a possum, sometimes..."

"And there we were thinking we didn't live somewhere interesting," Max told Caroline reprovingly. "I bet if he could, Dave'd choose to live in this flea-pit in a heart-beat."

"I'd never leave," Dave said unthinkingly.

Max sniggered. "Dude, you need serious therapy. There are homeless refugees who laugh at our living conditions."

"Yeah, well, guess it's just the company that makes this place cool."

Caroline's eyebrows creased in concern. "OK, it's gone from sweet to worrying," she reflected.

Dave bit the inside of his cheek to take his mind off his humiliation. "Sorry."

Max rolled her eyes. "Jeez. What is it with you and saying sorry?" she grumbled, sounding more irritated than she meant to.

"I dunno." Dave shrugged. "I guess, I just grew up always wanting to apologize to the Aborigines for all the terrible things done to them over the years. The Prime Minister never said sorry, so I suppose I've always been over-compensating. Anyway, enough of this as the Aztecs used to say," he added brightly, then cringed as he realized he'd thought using a five hundred year old Mexican colloquialism might be cool around two attractive American girls living on the poverty line. "I'll just, um, see that map and get out of your hair."

"And don't take any of Caroline's hair extensions with you," Max warned cheerfully.

Caroline's hands clamped over her head instinctively and she gave a strained smile to Max. "You know, this is so unfair - just because _I_ still have some shame left in my life," she hissed.

"Really? You looking the shower-head in the eye nowadays?"

Dave had been listening - mainly for want of anything else to do - and he tried not to blush furiously. Thank God Nigel wasn't here to hear that, even if he was totally misinterpreting what was being said. "Uh, the map?"

"Of course!" said Caroline with a bright smile, eager to change the subject. "Sure thing!" She scampered over to a desk and rummaged in it before taking out a battered, curling-covered A to Z guide to New York. "You need directions for somewhere?"

Dave felt the uneasiness as he realized he was at a chance to turn back, throw away his attempt to throw away his life and do something else. But what? Spend more time embarrassing Max and Caroline? Flunk yet another goal he'd set himself? These girls would never quit that easily. OK, they probably wouldn't commit suicide, but they had a destiny, a vision, and a freaking horse in the backyard!

"I, uh," Dave said, fighting off a sudden bone-deep exhaustion. "I wanted to see the sunrise from the Brooklyn Bridge."

"It'd probably be quicker to see it from the Winsconsin Bridge," Max opined, fending off a yawn.

"Right. Will do. Thanks." Dave took the book from Caroline and peered at the page, trying to decipher where they were. "OK, Winsconsin... Winsconsin... wait, if I'm here..."

Caroline glanced at a clock on the wall. "You'd probably better head off now," she said. "I mean, it's not that I want you gone, but..."

"Yeah. Deadline," Dave agreed. _What an appropriate phrase._ "Look, could I keep this?" he asked, holding up the book. "I'd normally say I'd borrow it and give it back, but I'm not sure I'll get a chance."

"Hey, no sweat," said Max. "It can be a keepsake of your trip to America and the awesome chicks you met there."

Dave smiled and felt like crying. "Will do," he said, keeping his voice steady. "Um, exchange is no robbery." He shrugged off his trenchcoat and offered it to you. "You can have this if you want. I think it'll fit, the shoulders are pretty broad."

Max took the proffered coat without a word.

"I mean, I just thought you'd like it," Dave babbled suddenly. "You said it was dope. Which I thought was good. But, you know, you can always sell it or something. Give the funds to the cupcakes. Just, I don't have anything else to repay you."

Caroline looked politely embarrassed. "You don't have to repay us," she said, then shot a glare to Max. Obviously this was a turnaround from something Caroline had said earlier.

Max was more interested in the coat. "This really means a lot to you, huh?" she said quietly, fingering the material.

"It's the most valuable thing on me," Dave admitted. "I'd like it to have a good home. And where better than this, huh? You can use it to cover up any dry rot patches..."

Max looked at him, and he was taken aback about how big her eyes seemed. She suddenly looked a lot older, and sadder. "You're _sure_ you'll be all right, Dave? You don't sound too good..."

"Don't worry about me," Dave said with a bravado so convincing even he was impressed. "Seriously. _Don't worry at all._ I just wanted to thank you two. It was so good meeting you all. Kind of the highlight of my life so far. And know that you've got one stupid Australian who thinks _Max's Homemade Cupcakes_ are the best things on Earth."

The girls were taken aback slightly.

Or, thought Dave, they didn't know what to say because he was creeping them out so much. He'd probably just proved that he was some freaky psycho who made shrines out of toe-nail clippings or something. Trust him to ruin the one good impression he'd ever made in his life. Still. He'd started so he'd finished.

"Max. Caroline. It's been a privilege and a pleasure."

He turned, opened the door to the hallway, and left. He pulled the door shut and sank against it, feeling as if his guts were curling up in agony and just wanting the far worse pain in his soul to end.

Only one way to do that.

Dave forced himself away from the door, clutching the guide book in his sweaty palm. Get away from there, end it all in the shadows where no one could see them. Just disappear.

Always leave them wanting more.

"Well," said Caroline after a sufficient moment had passed. "That was an interesting night."

Max was staring at the shut door to the appartment. The kid had been shy and awkward but there had been something a bit... broken in that last farewell. The pain in his eyes that she'd seen in the mirror so many times. But not for the last three years, coincidentally the same amount of time her blonde roomie had been cramping her style.

"Interesting, huh?"

"Yeah. Not in the Chinese sense, of course, where _'interesting'_ is the absolute worst thing that could ever happen..."

"That's China for you. The word crisis is the same as opportunity - they can build microchips, but they can't fill up a dictionary!" Max snorted, folding the coat. "But did he seem a little..."

"...yeah," Caroline agreed. "I think he _is_ a little..."

Max nodded. "...suicidal."

"...depressed," Caroline said simultaneously. Then she looked aghast. "Max! How could you say that?"

"How could I not? Look at him! A guy doesn't leave this flat on the verge of tears _unless_ he's suddenly suffered total erectile disfunction in the middle of a threeway! Plus," Max added, shaking the coat, "he gives us his most important possesion in return for a street map?"

"We don't know it's that important," Caroline pointed out.

"Why would he give it to us if it wasn't?"

"Well, maybe he'd be a little more honest if you'd shown him a good time like I said in the first place!"

"You are actually saying those words! _Those_ are the words _you_ are saying! This is why feminism still isn't taken seriously!"

"Look, Max, we're not his family. He's not our responsibility," said Caroline bluntly. "He's a nice kid, obviously upset and probably psychologically scarred for life after what happened with Nigel and that pregnant girl. We were nice to him, talked to him, helped him out and he chose to leave of his own volition."

"Own _violation_ more like!" Max huffed. "If I thought like that, I'd have left you on that subway!"

"Max, I was alone - I had nothing." Caroline jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "He's got Andrew, and a flat in Australia and a job in a DVD store. Do you really think he has it that bad?"

"No," Max replied. "But _he_ might! Men can't cope with pain - why else do women have the babies? A guy can't cope with a hang-nail, let alone a menstral cycle! He could be really depressed!"

"Max, Max, Max," said Caroline soothingly. She got up and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. "He wants to see the sun rise over Manhattan from the Winsconsin Bridge, a beautiful sight he can take home to Australia! Why would _anyone_ suicidally depressed want that?"

Max didn't bother to reply.

Caroline's face fell. "Unless," she went on doubtfully, "that was just an excuse and he wanted to know the way to the first bridge big enough to jump off. Oh god! _Oh god Max he's going to kill himself!_"

They both ran to the door, but the hallway was empty. They raced to the front of the apartment building, but as they reached the stoop it was clear that the street was empty. There was no sign of Dave whatsoever, or clue which way he'd gone.

"OK," said Max, trying to stay calm. "We know where he's going."

"Yeah," Caroline agreed. "We can head him off at the pass! Which is the quickest way to the Winsconsin Bridge from here?"

Max winced. "That would be in the street directory we just gave the suicidal Aussie kid, wouldn't it?"

Caroline let out a whimper of helplessness.

"What do we do, Max?" she asked.

But Max, for once, didn't know.


	14. Chapter 14

Dave felt strangely light of heart as he made his way towards the Winsconsin Bridge and his inevitable death. He was warm and smiling and the world didn't seem so bad, almost as though he was drunk. Two decades of pain was about to end, and he felt almost excited, like the last day of school. This time he was alone, though, but he had plenty of distraction. All the light and noise of traffic and people. And he'd got to see New York before he died, so there was a clear improvement of how he expected to perish. He never thought he'd even leave his home town, let alone Australia and yet here he was globe-trotting.

Perishing on a foreign island, never to be heard from again like some forgotten pirate.

"_And if I could go back and make my amends, I'd make all those mistakes again!_"

He laughed and began to sing happily as he crossed the lights following the signs to the bridge, his head filled with the energetic bitterness of some old thrash metal. The pain didn't seem to bug him now. He might as well have been drunk.

"_Though you see me now, the mere ghost of a man, I once had the heart of a lion!_  
_Commanding my ship between many a shore, the old Jolly Roger a-flying_  
_Mine was a name that put fear into men, and regret into plenty of lasses!_  
_Lo, how I wish I could take back those days as I stare at these empty beer glasses!_"

Dave laughed, all but skipping to the guitars and accordions only he could hear.

"_Life has many pleasures and we had our fill, of food and of wenches and beer!_  
_When we tired of the port or had drunken it dry, the time to set sail had come near!_  
_And for what? We heed no law, the other man suffers so we can have more_  
_And for what? We lived every day, the noose of the hangman a hairsbreadth away!_"

Oh yes. Tonight was a good day to die.

"_And if I could go back and make my amends, I'd make all those mistakes again!_"

-x-x-x-

Clutching Dave's coat to her in-a-word-awesome chest, Max sprinted up the stairwell to the level above her apartment. Caroline was on her heels, her long legs giving her the gait of a panicked giraffe. "Much as we like her, Max," she was saying, "is Sophie really the best person to help with a possible suicide?"

"Come on, she's from Poland!" Max replied over her shoulder. "From what Sophie says, it was like growing up in _The Day After_. If anyone knows how to deal with suicidal despair, it's her."

"Yes!" agreed Caroline, wide eyed and clearly not actually agreeing. "By eating cupcakes!"

"She also has a street directory!"

"Oh, why couldn't we just google maps?" Caroline wailed as they reached the door.

"Because," Max replied, marshalling the ultimate argument, "someone only just _now_ raised that suggestion."

Caroline blinked, nodded, and took out her phone and began to tap at the screen in a panic.

Max brought her knuckles against the door four times, trying not to think of someone buried alive banging on the inside of a coffin (an image which usually brought a smile to her lips, especially if it was a hipster). "Sophie! It's Max and Caroline! It's urgent!"

There was a muffled moan from the other side of the door.

Max held up a warning finger before Caroline could speak. "We can do the 'is she coming?' 'sure sounds like it' stuff later, when it will be funny and we don't have a death on our consciences."

"Good plan," Caroline agreed, fiddling with her phone.

The door swung inwards to reveal a sweaty, exhausted looking Nigel who had clearly dressed in a hurry. So much of a hurry he was only wearing his T-shirt. Upside down, with his legs stuck through the neckhole and one of the sleeves. His hair looked like he'd been greased and then electrocuted more than once, while his ribs showed the telltale bruises that were often the battle scars Oleg bragged after a good night.

"Oh. Hey." Nigel peered at them, as if he was trying to remember which nostril to focus with. "Soph's a bit tied up. I think lube is required, to be honest. Seriously, anything will do. Even olive oil, at this juncture would be..."

Max looked incredulously at Caroline. "I don't believe this. This is even _less_ useful than I already thought."

"Ah, Maxoline!" Nigel grinned, wiping an unidentifiable substance from his eyes. "I don't want to sound cliched, but I've just had so much sex I need a blood transfusion and this could be a hallucination. So, with that in mind, you up for an orgy?"

"Nigel," Caroline pleaded, cradling her mobile as if at prayer. "We think Dave's going to kill himself!"

Nigel yawned. "It's a day with 'e' in it. Of course he's going to do it. The loser's just out for attention. Trust me, he tried to slash his wrists with a tomato once. He's just trying to get you in his pants. Or visa versa. Which neatly brings me back to the orgy question...?"

Max turned away. "Okay, find the quickest way to the bridge and get ready to run!" she told Caroline.

Nigel ogled the two definitely-lovers scramble away from him. Then he frowned. "Hey, why have you got Dave's coat?" he called.

Max shouted over her shoulder. "He said I could keep it!"

Nigel's face crumpled, as if each individual muscle suddenly went on strike. "Wait for me! I'm coming too!" he roared and, bundling his trousers under his bare, cream-whip-spattered arm, he threw himself after the others.

x-x-x

"_Williamsburg,_ not Wisconsin," Dave tutted, but couldn't help but smile at Max's prank.

Still, whatever the bridge he'd still found it. Dave hadn't actually been on many major bridges - this one was like a larger, steampunk version of neo-futuristic Anzac Bridge he often traversed back home in Australia. He supposed the Williamsburg won out on the intricacy of the design, the old-fashioned yet reassuringly crude structure, not to mention those suspension coils big enough for people to walk down without steps. He'd often boggled at that sight in comics and on TV, certain any normal human being would slide down or off the edges to their doom.

"There's an idea," he mused.

It'd be quite an experience to stroll along the top of those things. It didn't matter if he fell or not, and who cared if the police saw him? He'd seen enough of America to know one suicidal Australian tourist wouldn't grab their attention. He doubted Kylie Minogue doing a striptease would even merit their notice. He paused to imagine that image, and found it oddly unsatisfying.

_Oh well._

Idly wondering what the bridge would look like in daylight, Dave plodded along the path towards the nearest pylon.

x-x-x

Caroline rode Chestnut as fast as she dared, given he was carrying both her and Max but also Nigel. Nigel had, with less ceremony than Oleg could have managed, to strip naked and re-dress himself in the stairwell. They could easily see why Nigel had such a high opinion of himself, but frankly it didn't really make up for his personality. That said, Nigel was certainly showing some kind of empathy for the first time since they'd met him.

He hadn't tried to grope either of them - despite ample opportunity as he clung to Max and she clung to Caroline.

As they reached a street corner and waited impatiently for the traffic to disperse or the lights to change, Nigel looked around wildly. "His mum made him that coat. Literally, with her own hands. Gave it to him right before the whole 'combine harvester' incident. I mean, she's still alive and all, but she was never the same after that. Autopsy surgeons wouldn't be able to prise it from his hands." He let out a shuddering breath. "This is like the pin taken out of a grenade."

"Surprised you care," Max retorted, still searching for any glimpse of Dave.

Nigel was outraged. "You've known me for less than a day. A little less judgmental."

"We saw enough," snapped Caroline. "That was hardcore emotional bullying you were doing!"

Nigel scowled. "Never said I'm perfect. I never state the obvious." He grinned, then sagged. "Dave is a whiny self-hating loser, but I owe him a lot. Certainly enough to stop him jumping off a bridge. And the whole Phoebe thing is the _one_ thing in life I can use on him to shut him up when he's going on about what a huge failure I am. I have feelings too, you know!"

"After a night with Sophie? I'm amazed you're still conscious."

"Yeah, she showed me her spice rack. I bet my urine sample would have a fortune in street value right now."

The lights changed and Caroline drove Chestnut to the other side of the street.

"Now, I might have laid it on a bit heavy tonight," Nigel continued, "but Dave's berzerk button is a wierd thing. He knew Phe all his life, she was practically his sister - of course she'd never bang him. But she got him to deliver those triplets, not me. I got to hold her hand and I _still_ don't have full sensation in my ring fingertip..."

They paused and glanced down an alleyway. No sign of him.

"The thing about Dave is that he's got intimacy issues. Well, you would if you fancied your own sister. Not that she was his own sister. Which is ironic, as _I've_ been trying to bang _my_ own sister for ages. Anyway, he falls in love, but he never acts on it. It's like instead of a libidio, he sets off this suicidal bomb thing. Freaking prima donna."

"So you're saying Dave's doing this because he's fallen in love?" asked Caroline, trying to keep up mentally and physically.

"You betcha, sweetcheeks," Nigel retorted. "He found an incredibly attractive and wonderful person to fall in love with who would never do the squelchy with him, decided there was no point living any more since he'd obviously never have them and went straight to Suicide Leap!" His tone darkened. "Either of you girls care to guess who he fell head over heels for since he got to New York?"

Max looked at Caroline with something approaching fear. "Dave's in love with Han?" she asked hopefully.

x-x-x

Dave's feet were starting to hurt, a dull heat burning inside his soles with each step. He was also feeling a slight friction burn on his inner thigh as the material of his trousers rubbed his leg raw. Still, he wouldn't live long enough to suffer much, or the indignity of having to massage antiseptic cream into such an intimate area. In fact, he was beginning to worry he was off schedule. He had to hurry if he wanted to see dawn break. Already the murky sky seemed to be lightening slightly.

Of course, knowing his luck, the smog would blot out the sunrise.

In the meantime he had traversed the length of the Williamsburg Bridge and was now heading back down the other side, trying to find a pylon not blocked by lots of chain-link fences and keep out signs. He'd assumed it would be piss-easy to get through and up to the top of the building, but no. This much-less-famous-than-Brooklyn bridge seemed to have too much security. Surely no one normally jumped from here? They saved that for the Golden Gate Bridge.

Dave frowned. He knew it was called that for a reason, _not_ that it was golden-coloured. He'd forgotten.

And he'd never know the answer, unless it came back to him in the next few minutes.

He'd die totally ignorant.

Like a cloud of exhaust fumes, the tugging desire to throw this all away and go back to normal clung round him. _No,_ he told himself firmly. _I can't go back. I've got nothing to go back to. I don't even know where Andrew and Nigel are. I've said goodbye to Max and Caroline, and the knowledge they're happy is the best thing on offer._

He made his way to the next pylon. It was, like all the others, sealed off completely.

Dave swore. This stupid bridge was designed to be impossible to die on. Even the pedestrian and bike paths on either side of the railway were sealed inside bright red cages. Nothing larger than breadcrumbs could possibly stand a chance of plunging to their doom. And just when Dave's thoughts were about to suggest that maybe this was the universe somehow trying to persuade him to stay alive, he found it.

A triangular chunk of the mesh had been torn away from an upper section of cage.

It would be a slightly awkward clambering through, but perfectly possible. Even for someone as completely unfit and unathletic as Dave. He could squirm through there in an undignified fashion. At least then there wasn't a bunch full of girls his own age watching with a mixture of pity and contempt as he failed to climb a rope.

_Right. Watch the sunrise, then take a long crawl through a short fence. Or words to that effect._

Dave looked around, waiting for day to break. He found himself whistling a sad sea shanty-like tune by the late rock star.

"_There are no more tales to be told..._"

_Hang on,_ he thought. _Is this facing the sunrise? It sinks in the west, so it has to be the east to see the sun. Is this east side? If this is the west side, I won't see a sodding thing. But if I go to the other side, I might miss it. And on the other hand, if I go to the other side, I definitely won't have a handy jumping off point. And no guarantee of a sunrise either way!_

"_No more stories from battles of old..._"

_Screw this. No one's around. Might as well skip to the end._

"_Now, it seems our journey has come to an end..._"

Dave put his hands against the frame, braced himself and pulled his weight up towards the hole in the fence.

"_...we are scraping the barrel, my friend!_"


	15. Chapter 15

"Excuse me," boomed a voice, shattering the muffled sounds of the night.

Dave flinched, dropping away from the fence. He always flinched at sudden, loud noises - even though he wasn't nervous, it seemed that while his brain was calmly identifying a voice as a passerby asking a question, his heart was convinced a chainsaw-weilding psychopath was about to gut him like a wobbywong. As a result, his heart was hammering, scaring countless chemicals through his system all screaming 'I want to live!' and undoing the pretty-darned-top-notch-suicidal despair he'd built up.

"I was wondering, have you seen a rather annoying nineteen year old Aborigine wandering around here? Blond hair, sunglasses, looks rather like the HRT is starting to kick in, about so high...?"

Dave turned around.

In front of him was the inner fence of the caged walkway. Beyond that were two trainlines. Beyond those was another caged walkway. And standing there, grinning like his teeth were made of sunshine, was Andrew. "Dave!" he said brightly. "I didn't recognize you without your coat!" He frowned. "I thought I left you with two broke girls."

"Yeah," Dave replied, the monosyllable warbling so much it sounded like his voice was breaking. "They, uh, wanted to get to bed..."

"Oh. And they didn't even give you the couch and some earplugs?" Andrew shook his head. "That's Americans for you, I guess. Any sign of Nigel, then? Because if I try any harder to find him, I'm afraid I'll break into a stand-still."

"No," Dave admitted. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he remembered in incredible detail an old _X-Files_ comic book he'd read when he was little - it was about near-death experiences, and the idea that you don't have a close-call. You die, and then you wake up in a dream-world where you survived. Was the real Dave plummeting into the water now? Or already dead?

"Oh well, the stupid bastard's probably at the airport by now. You stay there, I'll come to you."

With that, the shaggy-haired young man turned and strolled off into the night, without a care in the world.

Dave looked at the hole in the fence. He could kill himself now, but he imagined a puzzled Andrew looking around for him for the rest of the night. That somehow seemed too rude. Too wrong.

But, if he didn't jump _here_ - then _where?_

If not _now_ - then when?

x-x-x

Andrew strolled down towards the point in the bridge the railway line dipped below the walkway and allowed the pedestrian to cross to the other side of the construction. Idly keeping an eye out for Nigel, and dimly lit by the translucent pre-dawn light, Andrew found a distant tune at the back of his head and tried to shake it loose. Perhaps it was his subconscious trying to contact him? Or maybe it was just some anoying jingle he'd heard at some point.

"_Please, please, tell me now - is there something I should know?_  
_Is there something I should say that'll make you come come my way?_  
_Do you feel the same? Cause you don't let it show..._"

Catchy beat, he had to admit.

As he tried to remember the rest of it - something about a nuclear war being easier to deal with than someone's foibles - he heard a sound he was quite confident was the sound of hoofbeats. Odd sound to hear on the Williamsburg Bridge just before dawn. He peered down the concourse and was taken aback to see a dark chestnut-coloured horse gallopsing toward him at impressive speed. It was being ridden by a woman with long blonde hair, hugged by another woman with dark hair, and behind them was...

No.

No?

Yes. It was Nigel. And he was clinging to Max, who was clinging to Caroline.

The horse slowed to a halt next to him, so he was close enough to see them up close. There was no mistake.

"Oh," he said with awed delight, "I have _got_ to hear the explanation for this!"

"Hi, Andrew," said Caroline breathlessly. "This is my horse, Chestnut."

Andrew looked at the horse, then the riders. "You two girls _not only_ run a midnight cupcake business but _also_ ride a thoroughbred? You both realize, of course, this makes you undoubtedly the coolest and most interesting people I have ever met?"

"Dave!" Max shouted. "You seen him?"

"Yes," he replied, nonplussed as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Further up the bridge on the other side. Why? Something wrong?"

"He's gonna jump!" Nigel cried.

"Flapdoodle!" Andrew dismissed, then realized Max was wearing a dyed trenchcoat. "Why are you wearing his coat?"

"He gave it to her," Nigel wailed. "He means it!"

Andrew nodded. "Get going up there, about two hundred metres. I'll keep heading to cut him off at the path. Go!" he ordered, and then threw himself down the concourse towards the cross-walkway as fast as his ungainly form could manage.

The lyrics of the song taunted him every step of the way.

"_Please, please, tell me now - can you see what makes me go?_  
_Can you see how much I'd die, everytime it passes by?_  
_Please, please, tell me now - what it takes to make it show_  
_Is there something I should know? Is there something I should know?!_"

x-x-x

Dave was standing by the gap in the fence, feeling totally bewildered and without a clue what to do next.

And then, in case things weren't surreal enough, on the other walkway he saw Caroline, Max and Nigel racing a horse towards him.

Dave warily pinched his bare arm, but all he got was a sore sensation and the same bizarre image.

"Wait! Dave! Don't do it!" Nigel was shouting.

Dave shook his head, unable to comprehend what was happening. "What are you even doing here?" he demanded, suddenly feeling angrier than he had in a very, very long time. "GO AWAY!"

"Hey," Max groaned as she dismounted the horse. "Free country - Obama said so, it must be true!"

"Why couldn't you have just stayed out of it?" he roared at her, his normally pleasant face twisted in fury.

"Dave, we couldn't just let you kill yourself!" Caroline protested.

"Why not?" Dave demanded. "You've only known me one night and you didn't like what you saw!"

"That's not true!" Max protested.

"You couldn't have left alone, could you? Just let me walk off into the night - I couldn't even get that sort of dignity, could I?" Dave slammed his fist against the inner fence of the walkway with enough force to send a jangling shockwave rattling in both directions. The sudden violence made the others on the far side back away. "That was too much to ask, I suppose! After all, you _already_ know what a pathetic screw-up I am, so why not come to make fun of the freak when he tries to jump?"

Caroline finally clambered down from Chestnut. "Dave, you're not pathetic," she said briskly. "Let's just talk about this."

"DO NOT PRETEND YOU CARE," roared Dave, voice cracking with rage. "Just. Don't."

"Hey, how come _we're_ not allowed to make sweeping judgments about you?" Max retorted. "You think we'd waste time missing three hours of decent sleep if we _didn't_ actually care?"

"Yeah," Caroline agreed. "It's kind of hurtful you think so little of us, Dave."

"He doesn't," said Max quietly. "You don't think we care, because you think we _shouldn't_ care about you. Right?"

Caroline's eyes widened, then she looked and slapped Nigel on the arm. "Look what you've done to him!"

"What?" Nigel yelped in pain. "Hey, he was suicidal _before_ tonight, you know!"

"Ever since you and that girl did the pre-natal sex pilates, you think?" Max suggested.

Dave shuddered, feeling sick. "Enough of this," he said and went to jump.

"DAVE!" Nigel screamed, throwing himself against the fence. "DON'T!"

Dave turned to look back, even as every nerve screamed for him not to. "Why not? So you can tell more complete strangers about you and Phe and all the multiple orgasms? The appeal's not working on me, Nigel!"

"What do you care what _I_ said?" Nigel protested. "Are you really going to judge your whole life on what other people say?"

"What _you_ said," Dave spat. "What _you_ did."

"Dude!" grumbled Nigel in annoyance. "She was 17, horny as crap, hadn't seen her boyfriend for at least two trimesters! You think she wanted me for my good spirit or wonderful charm - I was just a staggeringly attractive non-battery sex aide! And, FYI, that doesn't exactly do _my_ self-esteem much good! She used me, Dave, the exact same way she'd never use you! You matter too much to her for some tension-relieving rumpy-pumpy!"

There was a nasty look in Dave's eyes. "This is really heart-warming," he said flatly. "Thanks so much for this."

Nigel gripped the fence, wrapping his fingers through the wires. "Hey, let's not forget the chain of circumstances here! Remember, after you caught us in the act? You tried to jump off the school roof? No one was telling you it was a good idea then, were they? Hell, if Phe hadn't been so damn pregnant, she'd have climbed up there herself to rescue you. And when you did get down again, she was waiting there, remember? Looking after you?"

Dave's resolve faltered. _Had_ she? Was that just a dream? Had it just been a stab of hormonal guilt? She'd been up and down like crazy all through her pregnancy. What did a few moments of kidness matter? No, just guilt. No one wanted his death on their conscience. Just as no one wanted him in their lives. Well, tough. Time for Dave to have a say in things.

But Nigel was still babbling away. "And she told me if I ever gave you grief about this again, she would crush my testicles with her bare hand and force my head up my arse so I'd spent the rest of eternity climbing around on all fours looking for the light switch."

Impressed, Max glanced at Caroline. "I'm starting to like this chick."

"You _do_ give me grief about it," Dave howled. "A lot, in fact!"

Nigel winced. "Yeah, I'm a complete monster with no morals - so who cares if _I_ think you're a worthless piece of crap? You should believe you're the opposite, just on principle! You can't just throw your life away because one of my witty quips upset you! If I thought like that, I'd have topped myself years ago from all the verbal toxic slurry you and Andrew inflict on me day in and day out!"

Dave was still for a moment. It seemed more and more unreal with every moment that passed. Andrew appearing out of nowhere. Then the girls, the horse and now Nigel apologizing and acting all human?

Maybe this was a sugar-rush hallucination?

"Well," Dave told Nigel. "You won't have to worry about that any more."

"Dave, killing yourself... This isn't a solution!"

"I've never heard any complaints!" Dave said, turning away.

"You've never heard any recommendations, either!"

Dave swung around to face him once more. "Christ, Nige, just how bloody stupid do you think I am? That I haven't thought through every argument already? You just assumed some peppy words would be enough to make me change my mind? That I'd suddenly forget the endless shit that has been my life since god knows when? You're wasted here, Nige. Try being a hostage negotiator in Afghanistan!"

"OK, over to you two," said Nigel with a shrug. "And remember, girls, plenty of tits and teeth."

Caroline and Max were briefly at a loss for words. Then Caroline stepped forward and yelled across the bridge to Dave. "Hey, you think we never get depressed? We've lost nearly six hundred dollars this year and we're barely staying afloat. I try to hide it, but I'm on the knife-edge of total despair and one more set-back could leave me unable to get out of bed."

"Trust me," Max tutted, "getting her out of bed is easy."

"Yeah, we get the get the picture, daughters of Sappho," Nigel grunted.

Caroline glared at him. "I live in a Murphy bed," she retorted.

"We are unfamiliar with American lesbian slang," said Nigel bluntly. "Get to the point!"

"You know, Dave," Caroline said, trying a new tact, "there are at least two hundred different ways you can kill yourself. Jumping off the Williamsburg Bridge... it might not be the one for you."

"It'll do," Dave replied. "Quick and clean."

"Dave," Max said with playful exasperation, "there's a little thing called surface tension? From this height, the water's going to be like cement. Your death's going to be less quick and clean than the bathroom after Sophie's used it - when she's got her period!"

"Yeah," Caroline added, trying not to visualize that image. "It won't be lights out - you'd survive, you'd be in agony, all broken bones and organs and stuff. You'd be like Michael Jackson..."

"Only, you know, safe for children to be around," Nigel agreed. "But the point is, dying might take a hell of a long time. And be painful."

"Kinda like life then, huh?" Dave sneered. "There is nothing you can say..."

Max didn't let him finish. "On your twenty-first birthday, you go out partying in Milan and fall into a fountain trying to prove your boots are waterproof. You laugh about it the next day, and tell everyone Italian water's not as good as Australian water."

"What?" asked Dave, annoyed and confused.

"He's not twenty-one yet," Nigel pointed out.

Max ignored them. "And, guess what happens when you're twenty-seven?" she shouted at Dave. "You meet a beautiful redhead who has sex with you - no, more than that, she's so girly you actually make love! You expect to wake up and find her gone, but she doesn't just stay she makes you breakfast in bed and you'll never be alone again!"

"Stop making stuff up," Dave pleaded.

"And when you're thirty, you find this youtube series that is the most awesome thing ever and you'll wonder how the hell you ever lived without it. It's so amazing you go all the way to Japan just so you can appear in it, and after filming an episode you watch the sunset over Tokyo harbor, try sushi and this time you actually like it!"

"None of that happens!" Dave shouted.

"_Yet!_" Max shouted back. "How do you know it's not going to happen, huh? The only way for sure is if you jump off that bridge! You've got, like, another eighty years for things to get better!"

"And if they _don't?_" Dave asked simply. "What if they get _worse?_ What if this is as good as it gets?"

"Is it so bad?" asked Caroline helplessly.

"_Yes!_" Dave sobbed. "I know the reasons are stupid and there are people worse off than I am. But I can't cope any more. I go to bed each night hoping I never wake up. I eat dodgy takeaways and hope they're poisonous. I hear about people I know having families and jobs and being successful and I can't be happy for them. I'm not strong enough to take it any more. It hurts too much."

"Dude," said Max, sounding older and more tired than she could possibly be. "Your life before today sucked. You can't change that, I can't change that, no one can change it. But your life _after_ today - anything can happen. It can be made better. But you got to be in it to win it, am I right? You think I'd waste my time making cupcakes and waiting tables if there wasn't a gold-plated helicopter at the end of it?"

"You know," Caroline pointed out, "gold-plated helicopters wouldn't fly very well..."

"The point is," said Max loudly, shooting her a warning look, "that on the one hand there's me and my boobs on a path to possible success or failure... or else just a dead girl somewhere lying in the pool of blood. Which one sounds like the smarter option?"

"I know you've got legitimate pain. I don't." Dave rubbed the tears from his eyes. He was calmer now, and felt too tired. "But you've got someone to stay alive for. _I don't._"

"Charming," said a voice behind him.

Somehow, Andrew was between him and the gap in the fence. Somehow he'd got there without anyone noticing. Perhaps it was ninja skills or magic or maybe everyone had simply been more focussed on Dave.

Dave didn't care. "It's true," he said flatly. "Pheobe, Jadi, Tegan... even my family. All gone. I've got nothing."

"And yet there are five people here - I'm including the horse - who are trying to keep you alive."

"Because none of you bastards want to feel bad about it," Dave shouted at him. "Oh, boo-freaking-hoo."

"Or maybe we actually want you to stay alive?" Caroline cried. "Have you considered that? You're so convinced everyone's better off without you, but it's not true. It's _never_ true. We've only known you a few hours but you've made us laugh, you've helped us - you're one of the nicest guys we've met."

"Emo-tendencies aside," Max agreed. "I dunno if the world will miss you, but _I_ will. And I'm dead inside, so that counts a lot."

Dave shook his head. "You're blackmailing me into not killing myself, that's not giving me a reason to live."

"IT IS THE **SAME** DIFFERENCE!" screamed Andrew, losing his composure in a raw, anguished scream that startled all of them.

There was a long silence.

"You think I don't feel that way?" asked Andrew quietly. "That I don't hurt bad? That I'm alone, unloved, not good enough - never good enough? You're tired of hope kicking you in the teeth every time things might get better? I've thought about ending it too, even tried to once or twice. Remember when I got hit by that car? If the driver had been going a bit faster, it might have killed me. And I wouldn't have been angry. Hell, I'd have kissed him." He shot the others an impressed expression. "There might even have been tongues involved." He turned back to Dave. "But then it would have just been you and Nigel on your own."

"You think we can't cope without you?" asked Dave in a dull, confused voice.

"I think _I_ can't cope without you two," Andrew replied.

"You never mention it," Nigel noted, sounding surprisingly non-judgemental.

"If I wanted to talk about myself, my feelings or any of that bollocks, would I really choose either of _you_ to listen?" asked Andrew with exhausted logic.

"Can't fault that reasoning," Max shrugged.

"Dave," Caroline insisted, "if it was someone else on this bridge - would you tell them to jump?"

Dave said nothing.

His knees buckled and Andrew's arms shot out and caught him before he could fall over. The bigger man held him upright in an awkward bear hug. "From now on, whatever you do, we're responsible for," he told Dave quietly. "So if you can't think of any other reason to keep going, for all of us, then stay alive for that."

x-x-x

As is often the way, finding a cross bridge was suddenly the easiest thing in the world and the two groups were reunited. Nigel was walking slightly bow-legged, deeply regretting his choice to ride rear-saddle while going commando. Chestnut trotted obediently behind Max and Caroline. Dave was slightly unsteady on his feet, tears running forgotten down his face. Andrew was standing just behind him, a literal bodyguard.

Max shrugged off the coat and handed it to Dave, who wordlessly took it.

"Dope coat," she told him. "But the twins refuse to be confined."

"Sorry," he croaked for the upteenth time.

Max reached out, cradling his jaw in her hand. "You've had a bad day, Dave. We've all had a bad day. A bad week. Month. Year. Lifetime."

Dave was crying again. "It's all I can do to keep breathing."

Caroline smiled. "Hey," she said softly. "It's a start."


	16. Chapter 16

The walk back to the girls' appartment was uneventful. Nigel was unsure if the complete lack of reaction from the public was because they saw crazy horse-related hijinks all the time or down to the fact they were all self-involved capitalist bastards who'd be the first up against the wall when the revolution came.

Either way, no one commented on the ramshackle procession - he and Max leading Chestnut through the streets, Andrew bringing up the rear (and on pooper-scooper duty in case all the excitement proved too much for the horse) while Caroline rode her beloved pet and Dave, now back in his coat, clung on to her waist like a frightened chimpanzee baby. The adrenaline ebb had left him too weak to walk and the lucky bastard had been snuggled up to the blonde for the whole journey.

Still, Nigel consoled himself, that was one of the few benefits of being neither an intellectual nor sexual threat.

"So," he said, breaking the rather awkward silence with his usual brand of bohomie, "not only have we completely missed our flight back to civilization, but we didn't even get to see the sunrise over the Brooklyn Bridge."

"Oh well," Andrew shrugged. "We can see the same sun from Circular Quay. Does it really matter?"

Nigel opened his mouth, then looked up at Dave's slumped form. "Obviously not," he replied through a forced smile. "I, for one, heartily embrace this new era of self-pity and modycoddling."

"Sorry I ruined your evening," mumbled Dave to Caroline.

"Hey, an evening without an outbreak of herpes is always something to cherish," Max said, having overheard.

Nigel frowned. "Yes, I better get a checkup. Sophie's a very hygienic girl, isn't she?"

"Oh yeah," said Max with her wicked grin. "But she's friends with benefits with Oleg."

Nigel paled to a light tan colour. "Oh merciful Christ I have become patient zero."

Andrew laughed and, as is often the way, so did everyone else. Even Nigel.

Well, Nigel's was more of a hysterical, uncontrollable giggling, but it was laughter even so.

x-x-x

Dave wobbled on unsteady legs as he dismounted Chestnut in the covered yard outside the girls' apartment. While the girls themselves tended to the horse, giving him some hay and carrots and generally showing the same love and devotion they'd shown Dave, Nigel glanced at his flatmate. "Not that comfortable without a saddle, huh?" he said, evoking species-wide male sympathy.

"I'll live," Dave croaked, then chuckled at the idea.

"You know, some of my sisters tried horseriding," Nigel replied. "They were girls when they got on, but women when they got off. If you get my drift."

Dave wrinkled his nose. "I'm getting _someone's_ drift," he muttered.

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Max, waving a hand to clear the air. "Chestnut gets a bit gassy this time of the day."

The quintet moved into the apartment proper, where Nancy immediately bounced over to sniff Andrew.

"Nice place," said Nigel diplomatically. "Well, I say 'nice'. It's gone downhill since the yard."

"Yeah, we had that topped up by some nice Amish boys," Caroline explained. "They're really good at building barns."

"As long as no one grinds against them until their combined first orgasm and panic attack put them in hospital," Max warned.

"Max," groaned Caroline.

Dave blinked in surprise. "Heavy. Is that, you know, what put you off guys?" he asked.

"For the last time," Caroline said firmly. "We're _not_ gay."

"Maybe it's the hair," said Andrew, peering at Caroline's blonde fringe.

"I'm not cutting my hair!" Caroline said, outraged at the very suggestion.

"That's what I mean. That do is _way_ too hetero for you to convincingly be a lesbian," Andrew agreed.

"We've both had boyfriends," Caroline said, getting quite het up on the topic. "Max, tell them about Deke!"

Max sighed.

x-x-x

Nigel steepled his fingers and tried to look like one of the more contemporary and sexier versions of Sherlock Holmes. "So... this wonderful, funny guy who was perfect for you in every way and also _just happened_ to be a multi-multi-millionaire liked to dress up as the guy from _Monopoly_ and live in a mobile flat disguised as a trash dumpster," he surmised. "And the _only_ reason you're not together is you accidentally revealed that his mother used to be a stripper before she got into high society, so you had to break things off to stop him getting written out of the inheritance and forced to live in what we would call reality."

"Yes," said Max impatiently. Then frowned. "You know, when you put it like that, it _does_ kind of sound far-fetched."

"Far-fetched?!" spat Andrew. "I'll tell you what's far-fetched! People still keep giving Chris Lilley money to make more shows for him to indulge in his offensive stereotypical blackface tranvestitism - even HBO!"

Dave winced and rubbed his temples. "Drew, not the Chris Lilley thing again. We can't afford the man-hours."

"He can't be worse than the Kardasians," opined Max.

Andrew looked at her, bewildered. "The aliens from _Deep Space 9?_" he asked.

"OK, OK," said Dave, speaking up for the first time in over an hour. "We get it. You two aren't gay, you're not sleeping with each other, there's no sex, you're both straight as Ron Swanson on hardcore heterosexual pills and any love you have for each other is of the purely platonic, non-romantic manner. That's what you're saying?"

"Yes," the two girls chorused.

Nigel glanced at the others. As one, the three tourists decided not to mention the guilty-sounding hesitation before the answer.

"Pity," Andrew shrugged. "You two make such a cute couple."

"Yeah, well this cute couple need to get ready for work in an hour or so," said Caroline wearily.

Max crossed to the kitchen area and started to collect bowls and trays. "And we have more cupcakes to bake."

"Can't you just take the day off?" asked Dave.

"Hell no," Caroline replied. "There are other cupcake businesses out there ready to swoop in and take our trade."

Max nodded as she cracked an egg into a bowl. "There's this redhaired lady and her Asian daughter who run _Brooklyn Bitty-Bites_ who are our mortal enemies. We've actually looked them up online, that's how much of a death-battle this is."

"Hardcore," said Nigel approvingly.

"Of course, they're only our mortal enemies because _Crumbs_ went out of business last week," Caroline mused. "You don't think that cupcakes have gone out of style, do you?" she added, worry in her big eyes.

"Nonsense," said Andrew confidently. "Do any of them offer weight-reducing beverages as part of their pitch?"

Max shrugged. "_Crumbs_ did do a two-for-one sale on energy drinks. Does that count?"

"No," said Nigel, shaking his head. "Energy drinks are for losers - they actually come with a list of all the people who can't drink it. If you're pregnant, if you're breastfeeding, under ten or having an adverse reaction to caffiene. They're turning customers away."

"Yeah, the underage pregnant lactating caffiene-allergic market must be enormous," Max snorted.

"But they wouldn't be if they drank it," Dave pointed out, "given the whole appetite suppressent thing."

Everyone stared at him.

"Cause then they'd _lose_ weight," he explained, cringing slightly as he explained his joke. "And thus _not_ be enormous."

There was a long silence.

"Actually, you know what? Screw this!" he scowled. "I don't have to impress _any_ of you!"

"Oh, Dave!" squealed Caroline happily and threw herself across the room to wrap her arms around him tightly. "You did it! You stood up for yourself! I'm so proud of you!" she said, eyes gleaming with pride.

"Hey, and since we've established we're not in a relationship," Max suggested dryly, "_You_ can be the one to sleep with him."

"She might not be a lesbian, but it's still pity sex," Nigel pointed out.

Dave glanced at the look of what could only be described as reluctance on Caroline's face. "It's OK, Caroline. You don't have to." He turned and, unselfconscious for the first time, embraced her back. "Better as friends, right?"

Nigel leant back against the kitchen bench and addressed Max over his shoulder as though trying to mask a conversation with a bartender at a rather dodgy wild west saloon. "Of course, _I_ require no such emotional attachments," he said casually, "so if you've got an itch you can't scratch and Caroline's unwilling, then I..."

"Sorry, I've already made arrangements to have a weekly booty call," Max said briskly. "I see him next Tuesday."

"You _are_ a see-you-next-Tuesday," muttered Nigel under his breath, turning away in disgust.

Max, alas, heard the comment and what's more perfectly understood it - a fact that Nigel became aware of shortly after the metal handle of an egg whisk slammed down on the crown of his skull with enough force to drive him to the floor in a heap of contorted, unresponsive limbs. He groaned painfully, but wisely didn't try to get up.

Andrew crouched down beside Nigel's prone form, checked him over and looked up at Max with an anguished expression.

"Seriously - why has it taken me this long to find someone as awesome as you?" he wondered.


End file.
